


Static Chords

by Pi_in_the_Sky



Category: The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Broken Bones, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Graphic Descriptions of Injuries, Gun Violence, I just need more content with these kids, Kidnapping, Lilly knows how to push buttons, Most characters are mentioned somewhere, Panic Attacks, Spoilers, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-02-25 22:39:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 56,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18711118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pi_in_the_Sky/pseuds/Pi_in_the_Sky
Summary: "They gave her something to anchor on to. Tethers of hope and light that stop her from being swept away in the rushing waters of everything life hurled at her – so no, she won’t give up now. Her home won’t be rebuilt on bloodier soil if she has any say in the matter. She will make the time to save it, to save them, even if it means running headlong into the fray."---When the Delta try to "collect" the children from the school, Clementine refuses to pick a side and attempts to save them all at her own expense. But nothing on that day had gone to plan, why would this be any different?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-emptive warning to readers, I am Australian and as such some non-American spelling is likely to pop up throughout this fic – apologies if the ‘u’s and ‘e’s bother you. I have, however, tried to match the setting in terms of slang and colloquialisms, but if something distinctly Aussie manages to sneak through my editing let me know and I’ll try to amend it. 
> 
> Aside from this first chapter (which is nearly entirely about exploring past events), the majority of this story will be told in the present tense from a third person limited perspective – if Clem doesn’t see or hear it, we probably won’t read it. At least that is my intention at this point. It won’t be a retelling, though some plot points may still occur as expected, I can’t say for certain whether character’s overall fates will be the same or altered. I’m just going where Clem takes me. It probably won't take you long to notice I tend to spend more time in character's heads than in the action, so hopefully you're into that and it doesn't come across as too slow for you.
> 
> This first chapter is predominantly a back story of this version of Clementine and her choices and thoughts from the start of the first season, up to the final choice of The Final Season Episode 2. If you straight up don’t care about all of that, then you can probably skip on to the next chapter where the plot divergence kicks in – I know reading a chapter that is only retrospection isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, you’ll receive no judgement from me if you’d rather bypass it. 
> 
> Otherwise, strap in and let’s go. Hope you enjoy it.
> 
> -Pi

_You can't save everyone._

Clementine has heard it so many times and coming from so many people that she no longer remembers the first time it was relevant. She just remembers some people whispering it like condolences to those who tried and failed, or they themselves screaming it like an excuse when they didn't try at all.

But it was fucking hard to swallow every time.

It didn't make her feel better knowing that she tried. She had _failed_ to save everyone. And it was no understatement, _everyone_ she cared about from before was gone with the exception of AJ.

Sandra had died before the thought of saving her had even crossed little Clementine’s mind. The quickly silenced screams followed by guttural moans were enough to scare her into hiding. All she knew was that _something_ happened and it wasn’t normal. Sneaking away to the tree house just seemed like her only option at the time – bunking down with her school bag and packing it with her water bottle, walkie talkie, and whatever snacks she could fit in her lunchbox.

That tree house had been her sanctuary on the few occasions she could remember her parents arguing, or when she accidentally broke something and the guilt sent her into a minor panic. Sandra’s screams triggered both feelings in her at once.

It was a terrifying two nights, staying awake to hear screams, sirens, crashes, and the banging of firearms that she had previously only heard while watching the television with her parents. In the few occasions she ventured out of her sanctuary all she saw was abandoned belongings, and she heard far too many disturbing noises from beyond the fenced in backyard. Many people must have died in those few days, but Sandra was the first she knew personally – she didn’t see the change, but she did hear it. The small glimpse of her babysitter afterwards was more than enough to know whatever happened was awful.

Then she met Lee, and just the sight of anyone made her feel safer. She had always been quick to put her trust in others, thinking that the adults knew more about everything than she did. That thought shattered quickly when she heard each new person asking the same set of questions. They were all lost, each person looking for the next man up the ladder and hoping they might have the answers they all needed. _What happened, what do we do, and where do we go?_

In truth she was even marginally excited when they ended up leaving her home to go to that farm, it seemed like a good plan and her childish mind was excited at the prospect of horses and cows. None of those things ended up happening. Instead it fell apart the very next day.

Shawn had gotten stuck and there was no hope for her to shove that tractor off of him, she probably couldn’t manage now either. He was the first person she actually saw die, and at the time she had so many thoughts crashing into each other that none of them managed to surface. She wanted to scream, and cry, and wake up from whatever bad dream she was stuck in. Instantly she started to imagine ways that maybe things could have gone different; ‘what if’ scenarios that all revolved around one of them being big enough to roll that tractor clear across the farm and further so it could crush the approaching walkers into dusty bones.

She was always just too little outside of her imaginings, a small girl then and a small teenager still.

Too little and scared to save Doug or Larry – more because she didn’t have the courage. If she had been a better partner to the group then maybe she could have helped. Pulling Doug away from the walkers was out of the question, but if she had gotten the bullets for Carley then Lee could have saved him. It wouldn’t have been hard, all she had to do was walk over and hand them to her, she wouldn’t even need to get close to the walker grabbing at the women... but something stopped her from moving. Fear, probably. Every walker towered over her, even the incapacitated crawling sort felt like impossible obstacles that she wanted to avoid at all costs.

And with Larry maybe she could have spoke up, asked Kenny to give Lee more time. God, tying the unconscious man to one of the shelving units would have been better than what he did. It would at least have been less traumatizing than the pulverized mess that muddied her skin long after she scrubbed herself clean. He may have been scary, but he was the sort of scary that had soft bits that peeked through at the weirdest moments.

Clementine remembers the one day when most of the other adults had left on a hunting trip and he told off Duck for kicking the soccer ball straight into her face – it was one accident that started a rather loud lecture from Larry about boys needing to look out for girls. Katjaa wasn’t happy about it, but that just led to a louder argument, full of swearing and accusations of mollycoddling. The old man may not have been her favourite person in the group, but he didn’t deserve to die the way he did.

Lee tried to do something, and if he said he could help Larry then she believed him. He was always strong enough and knew just how to fix things, but like her he must have found himself stuck in the same crossroads. She wonders now if he ever got stuck in the same mental loops as her, trying to find the solutions to problems that could no longer be solved differently.

At the very least the place where Larry died was one of the first times she found some benefit to being small. Some little method to contribute to the group in a way that none of the others physically could. Crawling through the vents at the dairy was supposed to save them all, though there was nothing anyone could have done for Mark – she doesn’t blame herself for that tragedy. The blame lies with that lady for being sick enough in the head to butcher one of her dinner guests and serve them in the next room over. It showed her how far some people would go to be comfortable, how low the bar could really sink.

So long as they were fed and safe, they could ignore the rest. They bargained away whatever decency they used to have in order to keep playing pretend in their little farmhouse. In their mind everything inside the fence was a paradise free of danger – now she sees how full of bullshit that one-cow-dairy really was.

And that was where the slippery slope started; the point where she started to actually see the patterns. But by then the weight was too heavy on some of their shoulders.

She couldn't save Carley. The woman was nice, to both her and Lee, and when things started to splinter she tried her damndest to not let the group fall apart. It was then she learned that people you trusted could sometimes just _break_. Whether Lilly suddenly changed into someone who could murder over an argument after Larry’s death or if she was teetering on the edge from the beginning was questionable. Surely people didn’t change so suddenly, the spark had to exist before the fire started – at least, that’s what made sense to her before the world flipped its lid and the dead started walking around. 

Then within the next 24 hours they lost Duck. At that point she wouldn’t have even known anything was wrong if Lee hadn’t told her. The boy clung to his mum for days when he had so much as a sniffle; it didn’t seem too different to her. She recalls a weeklong span where he barely left Katjaa’s side for more than twenty minutes – sitting on her lap and falling asleep in a bundle while he rested his way through a mild cold.

When he was better she called him a baby while he responded with the equally childish _‘I know you are, but what am I’_ argument. Then she left the bugs on his pillow, and he licked her sticks of chalk. She filled his shoes with leaves, and he would joke about seeing spiders in her hair.

Both of them going back and forth with petty little things that were just enough fun to stop either side holding a grudge. It was all really stupid to look back on, but she thinks now that she might have been jealous that he had his mother there to soothe him while she fretted for her own parents.

Then both mother and son ended up going within the same ten minutes. They didn’t have to say it, but she could tell; she heard the pops and saw Kenny’s face as he started up the train again without a word for his absent wife. Shattered completely and with nothing left to anchor him in the turbulent storm they continued to travel through.

No one even mentioned Chuck. Which was probably for the best; the fact that no one said anything at all makes her think it must have been something awful. There was no extensive search for the man, or perhaps someone knew and chose not to tell her. Not knowing at least lets her keep pretending he is out there somewhere – older and greyer but still somehow kicking.

If she had to think of one thing she really remembers about the man, it would be the way he played his guitar – almost as if it was just an average day for him. She hadn’t realised how much she had missed the sounds of instruments until she heard him playing. It made her nostalgic for the scratchy sounds of her dad’s old music, everything from folksy classics to the popular hits from years before she was born.

There wasn’t the time to know the old man better, but she wished she had the chance to see more of Chuck. What she did know was that he was plenty strong for his age. Strong enough that she thinks maybe he’d have been able to change things if he had stuck around. Maybe he could have saved Lee where she failed.

She couldn't save Lee... because she was stupid.

_So fucking stupid_ to believe in fairytale endings where a stranger could suddenly appear with all the answers. Like some prince charming in a child’s nightmare – arriving to slay all the monsters and pull her parents out of whatever danger they were stuck in. She found herself too caught up in that fantasy to understand how far down the rabbit hole she had fallen.

Stranger danger was something her parents and school had hammered into her so thoroughly that she couldn’t fathom how she had trusted the disembodied voice on the radio. Maybe she just didn’t want to believe the awful whispers in her head that said her parents were already long gone. She wanted to believe him, the smallest bit of hope was blinding to her heartsick eyes.

That illusion was broken the instant she climbed over that fence and his iron-grip latched onto her arm. No good man would grab as harshly as he did, leaving imprints of fingers around her wrists and slinging her weight over his shoulder when she refused to walk with him.

She felt like an utter fool for listening to him, finding herself stuck in a room with a man that exuded a unnervingly cold aura. If it weren’t for Lee... it isn’t worth the trauma to think about. Even as a dead man, the stranger took more from her than he could ever have known. She had to leave Lee to die because of him – _because of her_. Devastation wasn’t a strong enough word to describe how dreadful those few days were.

Her parents were gone, had been gone from the beginning, and so too was every single person she had grown attached to in their absence. Like some sick game of dominoes that toppled them all in turn with only the briefest gap between. To run into Christa and Omid was like getting a lollipop after a mass funeral – sure, it was something momentarily sweet, but it didn’t cancel out the overwhelming sense of loss.

She didn’t even hear about Ben or Kenny until she was well out of Savannah. Christa and Omid insisted it was an accident, but it didn’t fool her. They all would have left the city before the horde arrived if she hadn’t listened to the strange man; out on the open water sailing away from anything rotten and biting. She didn’t ask for any more details to fuel her guilt.

Even if Ben made mistakes and got scared sometimes, she still liked him – it felt nice to have him around, to know she wasn’t the only one who wanted to help but ended up getting sidelined. He also had a strange charm about him that she couldn’t put words to... maybe it was just that he was essentially _the big kid_ who got to join the adults club sometimes. Though he did complain about it a lot, she liked hearing the stories that the adults wouldn’t normally say in front of her or Duck. Or maybe it was the fact that he seemed to not mind the quiet, whereas Duck had to fill the gaps between words with more words.

Then Ben would do little things for her that probably didn’t seem like much to anyone else, but meant a lot in those days where everything was uncertain. Like the stickers, he could have passed them over as something useless during the supply searches and yet he took the time to think of her. At that point they were both in over their heads, floundering at the prospect of fighting and fearful of doing something wrong – so it was hard to hold it against him when he fumbled and made bad calls.

Sure, leaving her when she needed him was a dick move, but she likes to think she would have gotten over that eventually. She would have gotten over everything if it meant one more person could have stuck around.

The thought of the clumsy and nervous boy dying to save her troubled her for weeks; nightmares of Ben, Kenny, and Lee all running through a herd and calling her name while none of them could hear her screaming. They all struggled through the crowd, teeth gnashing at them until they resorted to crawling and eventually falling completely still. Clothing and flesh flayed into a gory mess that left them nearly unrecognizable. Strips of bleeding mess lying at the ends of their limbs where hands and feet should be – like how her mind imagined Lee’s arm looked before he cut it off.

Even then they yelled out in search for her, words bubbling through liquid lungs and eyes darting everywhere while she stood right by them and watched – somehow walking amongst the herd and being completely invisible. Because she was no better than those biting monsters, they couldn’t drag her lower than she already felt.

In her nightmares they all died blaming her, all of them bitter and angry at how she got to keep living because they threw themselves bodily into danger. All to save the one little girl who abandoned them in favour of someone who fed her empty promises. She wanted any one of them there when she woke up to reassure her and promise it was only a dream; that she wasn’t a monster. But she’d always wake up in the dark – not quite alone but it felt wrong to seek comfort from Omid or Christa. She hadn’t known them that long and it was hard to find the right words; she couldn’t even muster a laugh at Omid’s jokes on the days where she woke up feeling guilty. They were nice but still unknown enough to make her feel awkward about sharing her nightmares.

Then of course things had to get worse, and they lost Omid. All because she forgot to keep her guard up and then refused to let go of the one thing that still mattered to her. It was just a stupid mistake, she should never have let herself get separated from her gear – it didn’t matter if it was just for ten seconds, she should have kept her gun with her.

Though then she may very well have shot the girl herself, which would just be replacing the death of someone familiar for someone unknown – someone she _killed_.  Contemplating that moral dilemma is discomforting to her still. The math should be easy, remove one instead of losing two, but being the one behind the bullet made the problem more difficult; especially at the tender age of nine.

When the grief lessened she found herself trying to shift the blame. She blamed the girl for starting the whole affair, she blamed Omid for hesitating to grab the gun, and she even blamed Omid and Christa for choosing to send her into that bathroom alone. It was a new location, and even if it was empty when they arrived they shouldn’t have split up like that – if there was enough of them to be in pairs, then maybe, but she shouldn’t have been left alone.

Luckily with time the blame game did fade. It seemed important at the time for it _not_ to be her own fault, now she could see it was something tragic that everyone involved shared a small part in – she’s fine with that now, but it took far too long for her to come to that realisation.

There was an awful strain between herself and Christa after Omid’s death. It was inevitable really; neither could look at the other without remembering awful details about that bathroom.  And from that point on there was zero tolerance for outsiders. They happened across an old gas station, it’s windows boarded but long abandoned. Within the confines of that building Christa wept uncontrollably for days, Clementine stood by the doorway and waited instead of going for help.

For two days Christa screamed and cried from the ramshackle tent she used to isolate herself away from Clementine – a meagre bit of privacy that she set up behind the service counter. It was frightening, the noises and isolation that left her wondering if she was making things worse by sticking around. How no walkers followed the sound was a miracle, but even that just made the entire thing feel worse. More isolated and so out of place with the terrors she was slowly becoming accustomed to.

When Christa finally broke out of it she was noticeably paler and thinner – her eye sockets dark and her clothing dirtied and bloody to a point where she no longer knew the original colour. In one quick sentence Christa explained that the baby was gone – she didn’t understand how or why, but frankly she was too scared that asking would destroy her completely.

They had left that tent there, and Christa had looked close to tears when Clementine had asked if that was a good idea. One more thing left behind, for better or worse the woman left a part of herself there and had no intention of ever picking it back up.

Still, she tried to save her, she honestly did. Christa was the person who cared for her the longest, and at the time she thought she would be the last friendly face left. She had no illusions about their relationship, it was tense at the best of times and she can recall days where they never spoke a word to the other. But there was no denying that even a wobbly support was better than none at all. Keeping each other alive, even if surviving felt like trudging through thigh-high mud. She still had to try, although she still doesn't know if it did any good in the long run.

The pessimistic part of Clementine insists it was for nothing; that maybe if she stayed quiet Christa could have slipped away before the whole thing turned into a shit show. Then maybe her life would never have gone down the path it had. Never getting separated, not getting swept away by that river, and never meeting Luke and the rest of the cabin group. She goes back and forth on whether that’s something she actually wants – on bad days she dwells on those dead-end thoughts far too often to be healthy.

Meeting everyone at that cabin had been, well, problematic was probably the most apt word at the start. An icy reception that melted at the same speed as their safety vanished. And there was no denying that the trauma had a way of clinging them all closer together. She did find herself liking all of them quite a lot, they gave her something new to connect with and the brief moments of levity that she had missed. But outside of those moments was just one gut punch after another; so much running and fighting and just trying not to let anyone else die.

Pete was the first to go.

Then it was Mathew and Walter...

Reggie, Alvin, and Carlos...

Sarita, Nick, Sarah, and Rebecca... _fuck_.

_It always hurt to remember, god when does it stop._

Then Luke, poor Luke... She couldn't just stand there and _not_ help, and it nearly killed her along with him. It was just so unfair. He saved her when she was at her lowest point and she thought that maybe things would be ok if they stuck together – he didn't make her feel like some kid he was saddled to look after. Not some reminder of old ties that were long since severed.

He was nice, and she liked him. It was just that simple.

He reminded her of Lee, and she knew that she wouldn't let the same mistakes happen again. She would have pulled her weight, she would have watched his back, and they’d have found a place where the walkers were simply a bad memory. But she should have known better than to dream of _happily ever after_. There are no magic solutions, and whenever she tried to invent one it just led to someone getting killed.

And of course the world had to punish her wishful thinking, taking Luke away and leaving her without the one man who she thought could patch up the fractured lines that were splitting the group apart. Everything just plummeted into the depths with him. The in-fighting was bad enough, and even when she was frozen and shivering she tried to stop it – and it just made things more painful for her. People she trusted turning on her, a person who she felt sorry for putting a bullet into her. 

Everyone had either died or fled the sinking ship, leaving her with two people who were just waiting for an excuse to shove the other overboard. That was the first time she actively killed someone, the first time she pulled the trigger knowing that she was about to harm someone who wasn’t chasing her, attacking her, or even looking at her threateningly. She didn’t want to kill Kenny... not at her core. She had to mourn the man twice, and in both instances she knew that it was her fault that she ended up needing to mourn him.

She hadn’t even recovered from Luke’s death, nor her wounds that came from the events directly after, it was all too much too soon. They both just needed to stop.

No part of her could understand how they could put her in such an awful position – she didn't want either of them to die, she wanted them to get their priorities straight. Even if they didn't like each other, they were strongest together. Yet they left her to either pull the trigger or let her friend be murdered because she did nothing.

She murdered to stop a murder. She likes to think that if it had been Jane with the knife she would have done the same thing to her. But what could she do? She was an eleven year old left with the responsibility of a newborn – she needed to lean on someone, and why the hell couldn't they see how much she needed them _both_. They were just too broken to last.

At least she can say Jane’s death wasn't her fault. It doesn't make it sting less, but she justifies it as something she simply couldn't have known about if the woman didn’t want to share.

Sometimes she wishes Jane did share. As much as the whole situation flew over her younger head, having two babies with two caregivers didn’t seem as difficult as one with one. They could have done shifts; one of them on baby duty and the other on scavenging. But all the hypothetical scenarios meant nothing – if Jane was adamant in her choice to keep her worries secret then there wasn’t really anything Clementine could have said to sway her. After thoughts just made some things seem clearer in retrospect.

Though now, with her knowledge on babies and, well... what Jane and Luke had actually been doing, she can’t help but mourn the loss of a final link to the pair of them. Another little boy or girl that she pictures with light brown hair in gentle waves like Luke’s, dark eyes reflecting both of the parents best qualities back at Clem. She would have loved them in the same way she loves AJ. But that child doesn’t exist, the very concept dying along with Jane. It’s a symbolic death that she remembers in a different way to all of the others – less sharp and existing entirely within her own head.

Each subsequent death seemed more numbing than troubling. The rest dotting across her mind with less thought and care for each. The wall had gone up, and no one was ever more than a temporary acquaintance, a potential threat, or simply an additional challenger for the dwindling resources. It was just easier to say _"it had to be done"_ or _"it was them or me"._

Nameless bandits who made the mistake of thinking that the little girl would be an easy target for whatever messed up plans they had. Or occasionally someone who shared their name thinking it bought them more points of trust – it didn’t, if it turned out they were bad news they got the same treatment as the bandits. If they had a use, then great; but most of them did nothing but make things harder for everyone else around them.

Eli is barely a blip to her now, an accident caused by his own mistake; even if it was her finger on the trigger, neither of them thought the gun would fire. At least she didn't, and he had to have known his ammunition was at the very least shoddy.

Then there was David. David was an asshole.

In truth his only benefit to Clementine was that his death was the reigniting point. She had stopped caring, stopped thinking about the ripple effect that one scumbag’s death could cause even if she couldn't see it. Maybe she had been alone for too long; Javi, Kate, and Gabe saw what a monster the man was but still tried to turn him around. She doubts she would do the same if she was in their shoes.

She had put David in the _‘ticking time bomb’_ section of her mind, the same spot she retroactively stuck the St Johns, and Carver along with his lot of marauders. Each one of them had bypassed the limit of leniency long ago and were well beyond changing. As soon as she put anyone in that category she found it hard to care if something bad happened to them. It was merely a matter of waiting for David to do something reckless and get himself killed, or he’d get too comfortable stepping on toes until he encountered the one person who wouldn’t put up with his shit.

But then he got bit and Gabe had a fucked up day where he had to deal with understanding that his father was an absolute dick, and also that he was gone forever. And he cried. Seeing Gabe cry at the removal of such a dangerous person just reminded her how thick those emotional ties really are. David wasn’t worth the tears as far as she was concerned, but to Gabe he was family and losing anyone with a label like that still hurt. 

At the time she couldn’t help but look back at all the families she once had. She cried for her parents but took comfort in knowing she had said goodbye to them – even if it was the casual _see you next week_ sort of goodbye. She cried for Lee because even then she knew he was the best person to walk through the apocalypse with, and the awful speed in which he deteriorated ruined her. She cried for Omid and Christa, and in both cases she found herself utterly alone in her mourning. She would have cried for Luke if she wasn't near frozen, and she will admit to shedding a tear or two in the weeks to follow as well as several bad dreams about crossing endless fields of ice. She cried for Kenny and Jane, and by that point she felt like she had experienced enough tough goodbyes.

Leaving AJ was the last time she can remember being sad enough to openly cry, and that was years ago. After that her emotional responses were all restrained or clipped down to a single raindrop in a storm.

Where had all those emotions gone?

Tucked away so AJ could never see how messed up she was when she fixated on things she doesn’t want him to understand. He should _never_ know the pain of being completely alone, the loss of a friend, or the creeping dread that someone close to you was just waiting to put a knife in your back. She swore she’d protect him from all those things, to find ways to teach him of all the horrors without ever letting him feel them. He needed to be twice as capable and twice as smart as she was at his age if he wanted to survive.

With that in mind, things became so much easier, her focus narrowing to encompass only the pair of them. She didn't have to save _everyone_ , she just had to save _him._ It was like how things were with Lee, she always chose him – and she knew full well what happened the one time she didn’t. There weren't any choices to make between herself and AJ, no need to take sides. AJ watched her, and she watched him – if they both devoted 100% of their attention on the other then they always pulled through.

The Ericson kids changed things. She suddenly had so many more people to care about; her attention split between all of them and it scared her how quickly she fell back into line. Those people, those _kids_ , weren’t like the others she had met. They didn’t feud amongst themselves, they didn’t turn her away when she was no better than a drain on resources, and they didn’t look at her like she was too young to be capable. In fact, it was almost the exact opposite.

It felt like she was the shiny new toy, having so much excitement and attention directed at her because she was an unfamiliar thing amongst the tedious sameness that came with never leaving their little community. They were all so wonderfully open while she was used to being closed. It wasn't easy to break herself open again and have more people to care about. All those old wounds resurfaced; old fears about losing someone, not pulling your weight, of just being scared it all could collapse in a heartbeat.

These things haunt Clementine far more than she’s willing to admit. The ground she walked was littered with the fallen memories and dreams of everyone that kept her alive until that point. Standing on their bones like stepping stones to keep out of the floodwater, the constant current that took everyone eventually. Only she ever managed to keep her footing, no one else ever seemed to balance the right way. It was always a struggle to push those worries aside and hope for something better.

But she wanted it to work so badly, for her own and AJ’s sake.

AJ doesn’t understand loneliness in the same way she does. His formative years were all with her alone – it became his normal. She doesn’t want that for him. And as much as it pains her to say it, sometimes she just needs help... with herself and with AJ.

Just having the opportunity to sleep soundly through the night and know that someone else is keeping watch. Even having ten minutes alone, time to process and plan without looking over her shoulder. Time to whittle down all the thorny edges on her mind that she needed to survive on the road – all the prickly bits that would only harm her attempts to make friends with the new kids.

And beds. _Beds_.

That first night at the school was the heaviest she had slept in years, the old and musty mattress lulling her into a deep slumber that lasted well past sunrise. It was a far cry better than anything the pair of wandering kids had experienced on the road. She and AJ had slept in abandoned buildings, camped out in open fields, and more often than not they slept bundled up in the back of the car. It hadn’t been comfortable for a while, especially with AJ getting bigger.

Not that they ever fought, but it put them on edge when there wasn’t enough space for them both. Trying to sleep in the front seats didn’t fix the issues either, that option only led to patchy rest and stiff joints in the morning. And an over-tired child was never fun the next day – all snappy and full of harrumphs instead of words.

Ever since AJ entered his _big boy_ phase he became harder to pacify when he was in one of those moods. She had bathed him, dressed him, and slept with his weight resting on her chest for so long, but then he decided he was too big to have her shadow over him all day. On the road they didn’t have an alternative; having the protection of the walls could give him that space without sacrificing his safety. Plus knowing there were other people around took the edge off of her own panic when AJ was out of sight.

 Then there’s the problem that AJ had become so socially stunted. He knew how to interact with Clementine just fine though he never really learned how to connect properly with others; but then he never really had much opportunity. He had a bit of a mean streak towards groups of strangers for a while, the ranch incident being a big example of how dangerous unfamiliar people can be – especially the older sort with weapons. The introduction to people his own age seemed like a good way to help, a softer method to reintroduce him to people so that maybe they could settle down at some point. To find the home that they both desperately wanted.

Within the first two days at the school she could see him open up more, she could see him in a way that highlighted _him_. The little boy who was always so focussed on _not dying_ didn’t have the opportunity to have a personality outside of his survival skills. He tried to make people feel better when they were sad, he wanted to be helpful, and most importantly she can see him smiling when he’s with them. It isn’t like he never smiled before, but to see him happy while simply being near people was stunning. Like the missing piece he had needed for so long was something as basic as people.

It didn’t take much to change him for the better. He always had been a quick learner; putting him with these kids just propelled him forward. Sure, he fumbled on the way, but he just brushed himself off and kept going. Playing and learning in that organic way that she just couldn’t give him. Having a range of people with different viewpoints, letting him ask questions about things Clementine had never thought to bring up with him before.

He still lagged behind in his understanding of social rules, but baby steps were still steps forward, and the others seemed quite sympathetic to AJ’s quirks. Selfishness and aggression are survival traits that don’t mesh with a group; he just needed to learn that. Learning when and how to control the instincts that may be necessary outside the walls, but that only harmed things when they were safe.

She can’t express how appreciative she is to the older kids who didn’t judge him too harshly for his narrow experience window. They were all at some point in a situation similar to hers, having to watch the little ones and try their hardest to be parents with zero experience – granted, they all got to avoid the baby and toddler years, but they had kept children AJ’s age alive at the start of everything.

They could do it together, make something to last that didn’t rely on tearing everything else down. It was all just a pipedream outside of Ericson’s, but maybe they could make it work.

And like all those fairytale dreams, she had to wake up.

Marlon and Brody were a tragic accident by all the involved parties. Sure, Marlon had intended to hit her, but not to kill her... But AJ definitely wanted to kill Marlon, and Clementine feels like she holds a big portion of the blame.

Marlon started the ball rolling with his decision from a year ago, but then Clementine appeared with a boy who she thought knew right from wrong. He simply didn’t. He couldn’t see the lines that separated survival rules and social rules, or monsters and people who resorted to doing monstrous things. She thought he would just _know_ , like how she was as a child – but then she had parents, friends, teachers, neighbours... and not the threat of death around every corner. Not accounting for that led to people dying, all down to her oversight.

She didn’t want to mince words with him, telling him straight that what he had done was wrong. It was murder, she couldn’t lie about that, but he wasn’t beyond saving. After all, Lee was a murderer who was still a good man. Clementine too had been responsible for more deaths than she cared to admit aloud, but the context had been clear to her in those moments – if she didn’t do it, something worse was bound to happen. AJ couldn’t see that far ahead, his actions running on emotion rather than logic.

The kids had every right to be upset about it. They had nothing else to latch on to, AJ’s actions being the biggest and loudest statement of their character. It had been nothing but a mad sprint since then. It hurt to be thrown out, but other things had hurt her before, they'd manage somehow. Still, she didn't expect everything to turn on its head as quickly as it did.

Abel and Lilly were going to take them all away to die for a cause they couldn’t care less about. And they started their crusade by putting a boot on her neck and a spray of buckshot in AJ. Familiarity with Lilly gave her the smallest bit of leeway in Clementine’s mind, but she blew all that away in one conversation. There was no grace period, she just showed up and decided it was time for the kids to be on the warpath.

The least the school kids deserved was a warning, but she wished she could be coming back with something other than bad news. Coming back at all was probably seen as a bad thing to most of them. Another drain on their resources to fix up AJ, all the while she had to spill out all the awful things that Lilly had planned for them. It felt awful to drop such bad omens on them, but she was thankful that they agreed that the imminent danger was the greatest of the evils that they needed to focus on.

For two weeks that threat lingered over the school like a black cloud waiting to break into a bloody tempest.

There were constantly two people on watch, often more when someone found they simply couldn’t sleep. Plans were made in a rush and everyone was running in fast motion to prepare before the hammer dropped. By the first week they had all been exhausted but thankful that nothing had happened yet. By the second they had thought they were mostly prepared, or that maybe they weren’t coming back for them at all – though the lingering paranoia never let them relax for more than an hour or so.

None of the preparations were enough for the Ericson kids to understand what they were actually up against. Clementine's stories painted a picture for them, but the words never became more than a horror story of the worst-case scenario, rather than an accurate portrayal. They probably didn't want to believe her, it made things too real and too big to fight against. But that was the reality.

Tenn, the poor sweet boy that he is, was just too trusting, like she had once been when someone promised her a family reunion. And Mitch had a protective streak that she didn’t expect when she first arrived. If he didn’t have that drive, maybe he would still be alive.

At the centre of the whole disaster was Lilly. Spinning and tearing down everything they had worked so hard to build like a fiery tornado. Clementine can’t remember ever being quite as angry as she was in that moment. There was always someone like her, someone who made themselves bigger by squishing anyone who dared approach the same level. One more person to throw into the _ticking time bomb_ part of her brain, but she gets the feeling she will have to be the one to trigger the boom. She is going to put a stop to it, one way or another.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you did skip the previous chapter, the TL;DR version of Clem's past is: Lee turned, she stayed with Jane, and she told AJ he was wrong to kill Marlon. 
> 
> -Pi

All the blood and the fire, someone screaming but Clementine can't be sure who over the mayhem. The walkers outside the gate groan like dead trees in a storm, drawn out of the forest and slowly shambling towards the school gates. The administration building echoes with the smouldering wood inside, gushes of smoke spilling out of the broken windows like trapped clouds.

The raider’s remaining horse restlessly tugs against its halter, rearing and kicking as the embers settle on the ground around it. The startled creature barely restrains the instinct to bolt out of the gate like the other, too well trained, much to the annoyance of the Ericson kids. Behind the panicky beast is the cart and cage that has tormented them so much in the past few weeks.

Naturally, the cart had been empty when they arrived, but Clementine can see some distinctly human looking shapes lying like ragdolls inside. She can’t make out who they are, but in reality it made no difference _who_. Any one of them is bad, they had unfortunately already passed the point of keeping everyone safe, but she isn’t about to let them get more if she can help it. She needs to clear them out and get to that cart; she needs to take stock of the situation and decide how the fuck to fix it. If it can still be fixed.

 A near constant stream of curses cycles through Clementine's mind – it doesn't help anything, but it drowns out some of the external noise. None of what she sees is good and each extra detail makes the pit in her stomach heavier. An orchestra of blasting sounds and searing lights that only disorientate her while she desperately wants to focus on the important details.

It doesn’t help matters that her heart is hammering against her ribs. Each breath feels like inhaling smoke, permanently winded no matter how much air she manages to bring into her lungs. Something has clearly been bruised from falling off of the balcony. _Not broken_ , at least she thinks nothing is broken.

Running at full sprint through this whole fiasco is finally starting to take hold. With all the adrenaline coursing through her system slowly fading, the sensation is skirting between a nagging discomfort and a stabbing pain. Ignoring it feels wrong, the sort of thing her mother would scold her for not mentioning the second she noticed it. But now isn’t really the time to slow down, and God forbid she contemplate stopping altogether.

The screaming grows louder, and she finally isolates it from the rest of the chaos. High pitched and splitting like a knife through cloth. It has to be Violet – and how Clementine wishes she never had to hear such a distressing noise matched to one of her friends. Some people just sound so different at their worst moments, like someone else is screaming inside their lungs. She would rather such a not-Violet noise remain unfamiliar forever.

Violet is being dragged toward the carriage by one of the raiders, her fingers tearing at the girl’s hood to keep her moving across the courtyard. The raider woman has a heavier build than the kids at the school, and with how easily she’s dragging Violet behind her it’s probably all muscle. Clouds of dirt puff out around the girl’s feet as she fights for purchase on the loosely settled dirt on the ground, but the raider doesn’t stop. If anything, the more Violet drags her feet the more violently the woman jerks her forward. Each shuddering step is punctuated by more piercing shrieks in that voice that sounds so unlike the cleaver wielding girl.

The image of Violet tackling Lilly is burned into Clementine’s mind. Charging straight into the woman as she had a rifle aimed square for her forehead. She had given Clem time to rearm and move – you can’t just let such self-sacrifice go unrewarded. Tit for tat, cooperation for cooperation until they no longer had to throw each other into the fire to stop the other burning.

Or the desperate need to help is simply because Violet is her friend and worth the effort to save, especially knowing she had already made that leap for her. There is some truth in all those flowery sentiments about friendship and camaraderie; though Violet would probably scoff and roll her eyes if Clem ever dared to say such fluffy phrases aloud.

Clem steps forward and readies Marlon’s bow, holding the flight of an arrow between her fingers in preparation to bring the fight back to their attackers. But as she’s about to take aim something flickers in the corner of her eye.

Amidst the flames she can see Louis’ silhouette outlined beside someone who is too big to be anyone from the school. Awful wailing bursts out of him when the person takes a swing at his head, the butt of a rifle grazing the side of his face. The pair move and now Clementine can see the boy is grappling against an armed woman, trying in vain to wrestle the firearm away from her.

Where had he even come from? She had lost sight of him somewhere between the initial squabble and the admin building, but there he is in the middle of the yard fighting alone. They were all supposed to fall back to the admin building, to give themselves as much distance while filtering the enemy into the narrow and trapped corridors. _Stupid,_ she scolds herself for not noticing sooner.

It’s one of the dangers of splitting her attention into so many different directions. They had all made plans, specific orders in which to do things, but all the details got tossed over the wall as soon as the first shot was fired. They hadn’t expected the Delta to come in swinging at full force; the entire point of the distraction was to make the first move – to throw them off before they could retaliate. The fatal flaw of rigid planning was that when the first assumption didn’t match, it threw the whole sequence into question. Too much had happened and between getting Omar out of the firing line and keeping Lilly’s attention away from Mitch... it was like trying to track each individual leaf on a windy day.

Louis just got lost in the breeze – which makes Clem feel incredibly stupid considering she couldn’t keep her eyes off of the boy earlier at the piano. It’s a stab in the guts to know she straight up wasn’t watching out for him before. And the poor boy deserves better than that, they all do. The one bit of advice she tried to give the kids was to watch each other’s backs, and she feels like she has set a poor example.

And all she can do is remember all the other times like this. Times where someone clung to a ledge and she was the only thing that could pull them back. The one lifeline and with just enough time to help them if she abandoned everything and everyone else... and if she happened to pick one friend over another, it just left them to condemn her in their final moments. As if it wasn't already something heartbreaking from her side.

Clementine can already feel her muscles twitching, the adrenaline in her system waning and her focus blurring. The entire evening’s weight suddenly landing on her shoulders with sickening force. Whatever action she takes, she knows that she won’t be able to carry on for long after. Not until she has a chance to catch her breath properly; but by then the Delta will have loaded up that forsaken wagon.

Then someone would inevitably try to comfort her with the words she least wanted to hear. _You can’t save everyone._

_..._

_Fuck it_.

Walking that razor has left her scarred enough, she’s _done_ – she's carried enough bad memories to last a lifetime, adding another face to the _‘not enough time’_ graveyard in her mind would be too much to bear. They had already lost Mitch to this messed up Delta raid, and the thought of the toll rising higher is unthinkable.

 _This is her home_.

There had been many but she’s drawing the line. This one will last.

It’s one of the few places left that she thinks might be worth the effort to protect. Walls and resources, a fuckin' _greenhouse_ , and more than enough space to cultivate the school into whatever they need.  And more than anything she loves the people... they reignited something warm and familiar in her that she doesn’t want to disappear. And in truth this place is theirs, but she wants to share it with them.

To have something worth struggling for, to give the daily hardships purpose other than simply surviving day by day. Spending the mornings in the forest hunting and knowing that that she has a home to bring her catch back to. Using the afternoons to walk the halls of the school, finding comfort in the little chores that remind her of her old home.  Enjoying every evening she can with the people who have given her so much more than they could possibly understand.

They gave her something to anchor on to. Tethers of hope and light that stop her from being swept away in the rushing waters of _everything_ life hurled at her – so no, she won’t give up now. Her home won’t be rebuilt on bloodier soil if she has any say in the matter. She will make the time to save it, _to save them_ , even if it means running headlong into the fray.

"Violet!" Clementine nocks an arrow as she yells her name, starting a nearly imperceptible slowing to Violet’s steps. The girl is far too close to the raider’s cart, a few more paces and the raider will be tossing her into the cage. Clementine starts into a fast walk – her bow focused towards Violet’s attacker while she moves closer to Louis. It’s a risk to aim the shot while moving, especially given the numbness that’s spreading down from her fingertips, but she can't afford to stand still.

Violet struggles against the woman's hold and her shambling steps halt for a second while the raider tries to force her forward.

Using the brief window of opportunity, Clem lets the arrow fly, her movement pausing for the briefest of moments to watch the arrow hit its mark. The raider's shoulder lurches with the impact – she had been aiming for the woman’s head, but she’s thankful that she’s hit her target at all. The instant Clem sees Violet pull free she turns her attention to Louis. _Violet, please find AJ,_ she thinks the words but doesn’t have the time or spare breath to voice them.

Louis and the attacker are stuck in a frantic mix of grabbing and jabbing, the woman eclipsing Louis' silhouette in the struggle. As much as Clementine wants to fire another shot, it's not as simple as aiming at the woman dragging Violet – at least in that situation Violet was consistently crouched low to the ground. The grappling pair shifts as they fight over the firearm between them, a misfired shot could hit Louis if she's not careful. And try as she might to smother her panic, she can feel her fingers quiver.

Her hands tremble and the flight of the next arrow slips through her grasp, the arrowhead dropping harmlessly and planting itself in the ground.  _Shit,_ she swears internally knowing that her control over her mind and body is starting to stutter. In spite of her burning lungs she draws in a heavy breath and moves. She might not be able to shoot, but she can't stand there and do nothing.

Wielding Marlon's bow like a bat, she hurdles towards them. She has to manoeuvre around the destroyed barricades and braces herself as she hops over the burning bits of rubble. Her body protests against the hurried movements; muscles burning and a sharp pain piercing between her ribs.

_Ignore it, keep moving._

The raider woman’s back is facing her, and Clem can see the tense line of her shoulders as she tries to fling Louis’ hands off of her rifle.  “Let him go!” Clementine screams out breathlessly as the bow swings for the woman’s head.

“Clem!” Louis’ voice is strained, clearly flustered from the whole affair. The brief glance of his dark eyes over the woman’s shoulder sets her on edge; there’s a terrified glint there that tugs on her guts in the worst way.

The raider narrowly avoids the swing, her body pushing forward against Louis' failing stance and causing the boy to stumble. Somehow, Louis manages to keep hold on the rifle – and thank God for that, since this lady seems like the sort who’d much rather shoot them than toss them on the cart. Especially if she is who Clem thinks she is.

In the blur of _trying not to die_ she remembers this woman shooting for her and the other kids from the tree line – they took down Omar instantly, zero negotiations or warning shots. If Lilly’s speech about joining the Delta wasn’t sketchy enough, the incapacitating them first strategy threw all the possible chances of a peaceful coexistence out the window. All the talk of training up the capable fighters was utter bullshit if they thought putting bullets in them first was a good idea.

 With a grunt of effort, the woman twists and pivots, throwing her weight and superior height around and sending Louis stumbling until he narrowly avoids crashing into Clementine’s side. Now the woman is partially facing her, trying to lift the nose of the rifle to a position that can take one or both of the kids out. Clem has to stay on the move, trying to steer clear of the raider’s left side lest she face the deadly end of the firearm. But every time she tries to circle to the other side the woman forces Louis in Clementine’s path.

Her eyes flash dangerously towards Clementine and her improvised bludgeon before quickly looking over the girl’s shoulder. With no time to comprehend the meaning of the gaze, Clementine pulls back for another swing. If she can just clip the woman while avoiding hitting Louis then maybe he can get the upper hand and wrench the weapon away.

But the bow never reaches its target. All Clem can register is a fearful yell as her skull shakes her vision into a sludgy mess of black and grey. Her body drops and she waits for the falling sensation to end with an impact. Her consciousness fades before she even reaches the ground.

 

\-----

 

She doesn't dream.

Well, not as she usually does. There are no pictures or half-formed memories playing like nightmares – something she is infinitely grateful for – but it always makes her feel worse to not dream at all. Like somehow she’s simply losing time and ends up feeling no more rested for it.

All she really experiences this time is a swirling of red and black behind her eyes and the distorted sounds that her mind fails to associate with anything real. Almost like... the train barrelling down the tracks, but everything is muffled as if the carriage is underwater. Almost, but not quite. It doesn’t stop her brain from following that idea.

She has dreamt of the train a lot over the years. Yearning to go back to the last time where she experienced something _normal_. Something that existed in the dead world that Lee somehow brought back to life for one last gasp.

It was the place where Lee started the course for her to change from helpless little girl into survivor. It was also the siren call for every walker to march into Savannah. The train had become both saving grace and funeral march in her head, and it made equal appearances in both her dreams and nightmares. Always the first step in both the best and worst moments of her life – becoming more capable while losing everyone and everything that she used to rely on.

This is different though, it doesn’t really feel like a pleasant dream or a nightmare. Even in her nightmares she could usually at least see her surroundings; why her brain has decided this isn’t worth seeing is a mystery to her. Though as her body rocks with the motion in her mind, she can’t help but think it doesn’t feel quite like the train she is used to visiting in her dreams – the motion is too slow and the _‘tink’_ of rocks flicking up from the tracks less frequent.

 _Maybe I'm dead_ , Clementine thinks bitterly.

It would explain why this dream world seems only half-formed at best; only drawing from a few of her senses instead of all. She wonders if maybe at the end of these new tracks she’ll be able to see and hear and feel the comfort of everyone she has mourned over the years. What she wouldn’t give to have one more hug from them, to hear their voices before she completely forgets them.

But those things are hard to contemplate when she can’t actually understand where her brain is right now. It’s all too thick and heavy, and she struggles to even think. Maybe the fog she is trapped in is her mind shutting down... or this is one of the intermediate stages between life, becoming a walker and whatever lies beyond all of it.

God, she hopes it isn't that.

Or at the very least, she hopes that she’s nowhere near anyone she cares about. The last she saw AJ he was in the headmaster’s office, Clementine can only hope he managed to regroup with the others. If she has turned then hopefully they’ll put her down quick or find a way to toss her out of the school grounds... before AJ has to see her.

  _I’m so sorry, Goofball... I didn’t mean to lie to you, but I guess I’m not the toughest person alive._

The rattling grows louder and she feels her body shifting in space. Bumps in the watery tracks, she thinks as her body slowly lifts and drops.

She imagines opening her eyes to see the train jostling to a stop at the final platform, a station with hundreds of faces waving from behind the barricades. A massive welcoming party full of familiar smiles, parting and patting her on the shoulder as she walks from the platform and towards the station car park. Her mother and father would be standing by their car, ushering her over for the long ride home.

Staring up at them, she would wonder if they were always so tall, or if her mind still pictures them from the same angle as when she was eight years old.

They’d hug her with enough force to make up for every minute they had missed each other. She can feel the pressure on her skin; warm and firm, all encompassing and so comforting amidst the blankness of her other senses.

They would hold each other before finally going home together, finding it the same way it was on the day her parents left for Savannah. No overturned bookshelves and the wallpaper still bright after all the years away. It would be like the house itself was expecting the return; a cup of hot chocolate and marshmallows waiting for her like those winter evenings where her family snuggled together on the coach to watch the Sunday night movie on TV.

The dining table would be covered in letters and notes from everyone she’s met during her journey – each one full of happy memories and a written promise to visit her. Their voices would read the words to her, and the sound would be enough to constrict her chest as tears would spill from her eyes. Her parents would wait patiently while she pawed over every little scrap of emotion she had to read through; sitting across from her with warm smiles and the assurance to tuck her into bed like she was still the eight year old girl who slept with the row of colourful children’s books above the headboard, and the bedside lamp that cast shadows of stars across the walls at night.

Maybe they’d even let her sleep in their bed, snuggled under the covers with their protective warmth on either side of her. There wouldn’t even be a lecture about how she was too big now to crawl into bed with them – because she knows now that she’ll never outgrow the desire to feel herself utterly surrounded by the people she loves, even when she sleeps. _No_... Especially when she sleeps. So if she happens to wake up she won’t be alone. Not again.

Over the endless days everyone would come and visit her, stuck in the same state she had left them while she had grown older. Families reunited and carrying on like nothing had changed at all, in spite of the years of change that some of them had gone through. She imagines Kenny clapping her on the shoulder and spouting out some cliché line about her being late to her own party. With the forever ten year old Duck sitting on his knee, his smiling wife by his side, and even Sarita would be chatting amicably with them.

Then she'd see Lee's face, a mix of sadness and joy at seeing her again. Their reunion happening too soon for him to be truly happy and too late for Clem to avoid feeling like it had been far too long – nearly half her lifetime since she had heard his voice outside of her head. 

She wonders if Marlon would be there, and whether he’d want to see her. But he had all of his old school friends to see, a family to search for whose fate he probably never knew. The same for Mitch and Brody... she hopes that they find whatever it is they’re looking for, and that maybe they’d come and see her too.

And maybe someday AJ will be there, when he’s grown tall and grey, his goofball head full of a lifetime of memories to share. Hopefully he would still want to watch cartoons with her. She’d show him things from the world before him, and he’d be able to tell her stories of a world she has never seen.

Or maybe she’ll simply wake up and find herself in her life as the little eight year old girl. Back in that single bed with its downy blankets, her mother’s hand on her shoulder and soft voice apologizing for not coming home on time. 

It somehow feels fitting, to think that at the end she will leave the awful world behind to live in one of the peaceful daydreams she had back when everything started. Back then it was still ok to pretend it was all going to blow over by the weekend, and they’d all sit in a therapist’s office for the next few years trying to recover from the trauma they’d seen. At that point there was still a salvageable society to go back to, unlike whatever remains after years of rot.

She tries to focus on the manufactured daydream, to find the happy place in the fog – because if she is dying she might as well leave the world dwelling on something good. Shoving all the happy moments from her journey into a place in her past – a spot where they clearly don’t belong, but it is where they would shine the most brilliantly. So many people she would otherwise never have met, all together without the stress of surviving so heavy on their hearts.

The anticipation of calmness washes over her, like her whole body is watching a countdown reach its final numbers. But then the timer stops and she’s neither here nor there.

Floating in a sensory blank canvas that suddenly explodes with paint; blasting her with an instant of extreme colour that becomes shredded in the next second.

The weightlessness suddenly stops, her body dropping like a spiralling stone and leaving her with the odd moment where she no longer knows which direction is up. Behind her eyes the swirling colours settle into a flat blankness that somehow feels worse. The rhythmic thudding in her ears turns rapid and the metallic rumbling sound starts to echo inside her skull, replacing the foggy numbness with a quickly growing pain. If this is dying then why does it have to hurt?

_It can never be that easy, can it?_

Clementine can never just lie down and rest peacefully. She has too much on her plate to do that. Too many people needing too much, and she has never been good at leaving things half-finished. The family reunion will have to wait.

 

\-----

 

Clementine forces her eyes open and is met with an intense headache, even in the dim lighting of the unfamiliar environment. She’s lying in a crumpled heap in the corner of a dark room, grit sticking to the side of her cheek where it lay against the synthetic flooring. Scanning the room rapidly causes a searing bolt of pain to shoot through her skull.

The room is small, narrower than her and AJ's room at the school but similar in length, and sparsely furnished.  Chipped wooden panels cover each of the walls, each marked with scratches and carvings from the previous occupants.  Pale daylight filters into the room through a pair of metal portholes on the wall – the slight orange tone suggesting it’s early morning.

Beside her on the floor is her upturned hat, sitting beneath an old broken sink. A metal framed bed lines the opposite wall; its time-worn mattress looks only marginally cleaner than the floor. A rusted radiator stands at the far side of the room and what Clem guesses was once some storage cupboards – she doubts they’ll open, and even if they did they would probably be empty.

Another crashing sound bounces around the room, and now she can clearly see what, or in this case _who_ , was making the noise that invaded her unconsciousness. Louis is standing in the barred doorway of the room, his shoulder flush against the bars with his right arm on the other side. His trench coat is gone; the sleeves of his green undershirt bunching up at the neck from catching on the rough edges of the bars.

A pained groan escapes Clementine’s mouth as she tries to stand. She only manages a half-slump by pressing her lower back into the corner of the room – and the intense vertigo is enough to make her want to vomit and pass out in the same breath.

“Ah, shit,” Louis curses quietly. “No, no, no, Clem, don’t get up.” His eyes are wide as the words rush out of him, gesturing harshly with his free hand. He tries to keep his voice somewhere between a whisper and quiet talking, it makes every sound rasp at the edges. “Just stay there and give me a minute.”

Not that she has much choice in the matter. All the pain and exhaustion from the raid has finally caught up with her, she feels like someone has gut punched her before clipping her in the back of the head with a metal rod. However long she has slept isn’t enough to take the brain-rattling sensation away.

Another crash sounds as Louis reaches his arm as far out of the bars as possible, bashing the metal with his side in the process. Her headache magnifies the hollow thud of fabric against metal into an earthquake of rumbles.

“Almost....” he whispers out of the doorway.

“Shut the fuck up and just grab it,” she recognizes the deeper voice as Aasim, whispering as harshly as he can.

“Very constructive criticism coming from the guy who can’t _throw_ it.”

Aasim simply grumbles something incoherent in reply. From beyond the doorway Clementine can hear the occasional ruffle of thick material and something catching on metal.

Louis lurches once more into the door and the rustling goes quiet. “Got it.” Stepping away from the doorway, he pulls the length of his coat through the bars. Reaching into the interior pockets he removes what looks like a sopping wet handkerchief. Tossing the coat over the grotty bed, he closes the space between himself and the pale-faced Clementine.

“Hey,” his voice is soft and his eyes fixate on hers, like she might crumble if he turns his attention away. His left hand grips her right shoulder, easing Clementine back to the ground as her feet nearly buckle out from beneath her.

“Louis, what happened?” Her mouth feels as if it has been stuffed with cotton, each word dry and scratching at her throat. Louis settles in front of her on the floor, kneeling over her slightly to examine her face and head.

“Your friend Lilly happened.” The fingers of his right hand press into the back of her neck, gently urging her to tip her chin down towards her chest. An awful urge to recoil rolls through her – it isn’t him, she’s just had too many bad experiences that followed someone going for her neck – but she doesn’t really have the energy to fight back at the moment and lets her chin drop. “I saw her with that gun on you, and all I could think was _‘I told her not to die and the universe hates me – Louis zero, universe eight-fuckin’-thousand’_.” His voice hitches on his words as he continues, “but then the next thing I know, that lady started pointing that rifle everywhere... shit was fucked up from the start.”

Clementine gasps as Louis presses the wet handkerchief to the back of her head. Luckily for Louis, he is quick to tighten his grip on her shoulder, it’s the only thing that stops her forehead smacking into his chin.

A harsh huff slips out of Louis’ nose. “I know, I know,” he mumbles while continuing to chase the back of her head with the cloth. “I guess it would be mean to wish Ruby was here, wouldn’t it?”

“Depends on where _here_ is,” Clementine speaks through gritted teeth. It feels like someone has burned a line into her scalp and sprinkled it with ice chips... then rubbed the wound with salt, just for kicks. She finds her hands clenching in the neckline of Louis’ shirt, and she doesn’t plan on letting go until he finishes his torture.

“ _Here_ is a Delta barge. Full of Delta people.” A hint of something follows his words, an exhalation of breath that could be sadness or exhaustion. _He does look tired_ , Clementine thinks as she looks up at his dark rimmed eyes and the freckles on his face, each little spot much more noticeable since his skin reflects mildly pale. A slight purple splotch marks his left cheekbone, the faintest bit of swelling pushing the corner of his eye into a miniscule squint.

“And AJ?”

“They didn’t get him. It was Omar, then Aasim, you, then me. They retreated after that, Willy was taking shots at them from the admin building and Vi couldn't have been far behind. I think they realised too many walkers started to gather at the gate and they weren’t down for being stuck in the middle of that party.” She wishes that was enough to calm her down, but it isn’t. “Hey,” he tries to smile at her though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “Violet and the others will look after him. It’s safer for him there, yeah?”

An involuntary sniffle escapes Clementine and she forces her eyes shut to close off the emotions before they can form into something deeper. “Right.” It doesn’t feel any more convincing after she says it. She can’t help but worry, and as awful as it sounds she wishes he was there too; at least then she could watch him and _know_ he’s ok. Hoping and guessing aren’t enough at times like these.

“He’s a tough kid, Clem, you know that. The little dude takes after you, after all.” He turns his attention back to Clementine’s wounded head – dabbing the cloth against her scalp like he’s trying to sponge out a stain. “And personally, I think the further away from the psycho barge he is the better. I don’t know what that woman’s deal is with you, but she isn’t messing around; she’s split your head open with the butt of her fucking rifle. And, I mean, I’m glad she didn’t shoot you, but... shit... don’t _ever_ do that again, Clem.”

“Well I don’t try to get injured,” she scoffs at the very idea. The closest she has come to trying to get injured is playing the decoy – which is admittedly standing in front of danger with no guarantee she _won't_ get injured. Semantics, not that Louis is likely to care.

"That's not what I meant and you know it. It’s just..." he pauses, searching for his words and letting both his hands rest on her shoulders. The wet handkerchief seeps into her jacket, his prolonged silence leading Clem to open her eyes and watch as Louis opens and closes his mouth without forming any sounds.

He sighs roughly and his hands tense before the words finally come to him. "People die all the time, even before everything... There was this kid who lived across the road from me when I was little. It was her, her mum and her grandpa in the house, then one night her grandpa fell out of bed. And that was it; he just broke something and died on the floor before anyone could do anything about it.

“Then there’s stupid shit like getting stung by a bee or eating a damned peanut. Getting your head split open and bleeding everywhere seems worse than all of that."

Clementine doesn't know what to say to that. It’s not that she doesn’t get where he’s coming from, every little injury comes with the question of whether this is the one instance out of fifty where someone can't pull through. At the start everyone seemed very paranoid that someone would get an infection and they’d run out of antibiotics – illness became less and less of a threat compared to other people as the months passed.

 _Duck’s allergic to bees._ The memory of Katjaa and the bitten Duck springing to her mind involuntarily – one of the unfortunate side effects of her thinking about the people she has lost. She pushes the unhelpful thought aside with a quick shake of her head.

She peers up at Louis’ face. He’s staring into her eyes, searching for some sort of response, but she can't promise to never get even the smallest injury again – even AJ outgrew those words – it was just another hazard of many.

"Is it really bleeding?" She offers up lamely while avoiding his gaze.

His mouth tenses for a moment, but he lets the deflection go. “Not as much as it was. Lucky for you, I am a healing wizard... Also, Aasim and Omar were given water.”

“Wait, they got water?” That seems far too generous for what she knows of Lilly. Even before this Delta mess she rationed to the extreme. Ben only got food because Lee had taken over rations that day, and Lilly still kept the stopper on water for the poor boy until he agreed to check out the St Johns’ Dairy. If you were an outsider you got nothing unless you could prove to be useful.

No, she refuses to believe this is an act of good will – there has to be some reason behind it.

“Yep,” Louis tuts his tongue before finally pulling the now stained cloth away from her. The iron-grip she held on his shirt loosens as the boy falls back onto his feet before shifting to sit fully in front of her. It would almost look casual if not for the red and brown splotched handkerchief he restlessly folds between his hands. “Apparently, they think you’ll cause them trouble.” His eyebrows rise in question, clearly expecting some sort of amusing story. A shame she doesn’t have too many of those.

“I didn’t do anything to Lilly – she’s just crazy and thinks people who’ve survived this long must be as messed up as she is.” She tries to remember if she has ever really spoken to Louis about her past, but it was mostly Violet who wanted to know the little details. And for a lot of that time the boy was quiet; he had a lot to process over the past two weeks and she didn’t want to overload him with anything that wasn’t vital to the fortification plans.

“She, uh, sort of took charge of the group I was in at the start since she was in the military, then a few months later her dad died and she shot this other girl who she was arguing with. That was bad enough, but then she stole our RV and left us – I haven’t seen her since. I just assumed she died like everyone else who went off alone did.” Remembering those days makes Clementine twitchy, her body still feeling traces of uncertainty and adrenaline. “I think she’s scared. Scared that if it came down to it she couldn’t shoot the little girl she remembers.” Lilly had the perfect opportunity to kill her before at the school, and she couldn’t take it. It's an interesting thing for Clementine to think about, that Lilly's biggest weakness in this whole situation might just be _her_.

“Well, she seems to think it’s better to keep you on edge; like the impending doom thing isn’t enough. Those two got a bucket of water and some rags for Omar’s leg.”

“She doesn’t want her soldiers dying,” it’s the only reason she can think Lily would bother. “And she wants me to not put up a fight.”

“Have I mentioned how great it is to share the same cell as you?” Louis jokes sarcastically.

"Thanks," she offers a smile back and a weak shrug of her shoulders. "I mean it, really." If he wasn't trying to lighten the mood with jokes then she would be seriously worried about him.

A smile breaks across his face but quickly falls as a loud knock sounds from the hallway. Both Louis and Clementine spring back, a face peering at them through the barred doorway. The pale eyes and ginger hair seem to perturb Louis, shrinking away at the sight of the girl in the hall.

“Is she awake?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The girl responds before shifting back into the hall and outside of Clementine's view.

Lilly approaches the doorway, a wicked smile stretching her face in a way that makes Clementine’s stomach drop. _Don’t let her see it_ ; she reminds herself how quick this woman has been to pounce on someone when they lowered their guard. Her mind replaying the scene of Carley taking her eyes off Lilly for the slightest of moments only to have a bullet explode her cheek.

“I think it’s time we catch up properly.”


	3. Chapter 3

It’s a tense and silent walk, the quiet made even more deafening by the minor panic that preceded Clementine’s removal from the cell.

Louis repeatedly uttering _no,no,no_ under his breath while the armed Delta members approached to move her out into the hallway. Lilly with her handgun that brought back awful flashes of old nightmares, the pale-eyed girl with her crossbow, and a large unfamiliar man with a rifle. Even if Clem thought she could fight off the armed raiders, she's not stupid enough to think a 3-on-1 fight would work in her favour, her body struggled to keep her standing without swaying.

And she would not topple in front of them, being knocked out was bad enough; they didn’t need to know how off-kilter the experience left her. No weaknesses for Lilly and her lot to exploit. So she didn’t oppose them, her attention being spent on keeping the vertigo at bay and the sickness in her stomach. Clementine’s hands were bound in front of her with a plastic cable-tie that rubbed red lines into her wrists as she tested the give.

The man grabbed her by the collar and forcibly led her out of the cell to march behind Lilly. All the while the boy’s voices picked up behind her, hurried words overlapping in a loud mess, all directed at the girl who remained in the hallway between the cells.

Now she’s stuck between Lilly, who had holstered her gun, and the man thudding along at her heels, very much still armed. He’s a burly man with dark skin and short hair – and frankly he has such a large build that he could probably carry all four prisoners over his shoulders and still not break step. The last place she really wants to be is on this guy’s bad side, lest he decides to throw her from one end of the boat to the other. Instead of being physical, he takes long and slow strides behind her, jabbing her shoulder blades with the nose of his rifle when she slows her pace or fiddles with the plastic binding.

The blasted thing is too tight to wiggle out of anyway. For all her effort, all she seems to gain is a band of raw skin around her wrists.

She follows Lilly at a rather slow and leisurely pace, exiting out of the hall then rounding a corner to ascend a metal stairwell into the open air. Outside of the confines of metal, she can see why everyone seems sluggish. The sun must have only risen in the past half hour or so, the shadows across the land are long and cold in the still dim light. If they were on the shore the grass would likely still be damp with morning dew, while on the boat little droplets cling to the metal railings and reflect a brilliant white.

Another nudge in her back makes Clem pick up her pace, her boots thumping on the metal deck as she tries to keep herself both upright and equidistant between both her captors. Lilly peers over her shoulder to give her a stern look. Clementine ignores it, her eyes roaming the ship's upper deck rather than looking at the woman trying to intimidate her. She tries to map out what she can from what little she can see.

 _Up the stairs – very open, can’t sneak up this way with a group. Across the deck – lots of supplies, might be able to hide if we stay low. They have food planters – there home has to be close if this is all they have, or very far if they have more food stashed elsewhere._ _Is there another way down?_

She can't see any other staircases towards the front of the boat, so coming to the top level would be an escaping dead-end – at least as far as the actual structure of the boat is concerned. There is a pair of small lifeboats hanging by either edge of the deck, but that wouldn't be a quiet or quick method. A last resort maybe, though that too would require them all to be outside of their cells.

As they continue down across the deck, Clem spots a pair of raiders standing around yawning as they lean against the boat's railing, either on their last dregs of energy from a night watch or not quite awake yet for the morning watch. They both are unfamiliar to her, a thin man and woman who she doesn't remember being at the school during the raid. It does nothing to calm her nerves – just how many people does the Delta have?

There were five at the school, the big man thudding along behind her, the ginger girl who she saw outside the cell, and the thin pair by the railings. That’s already nine, and she can’t rule out the possibility of more. Though, she has already killed one of them, and severely injured another.

 _Serves them right_ , the bitter thought is hardly charitable, but she finds it hard to care given the circumstances. Somebody once told her that she should never wish for or be happy about bad things happening to others, no matter who they are or what they have done. Whoever said that never met the Delta, and probably didn't have the memory of someone slipping a knife casually into their friend's neck.

As far as Clem's concerned, she's allowed to disregard that advice in this situation.

Clementine’s eyes scan back to her surroundings. The landscape isn’t distinct enough for her to pick out the details – tall trees, slow moving water, dirt and grass. It could be anywhere outside of the school’s safe zone, without one of the boys to corroborate with, she has no way to tell if this area is even remotely familiar.

_Did AJ and I drive over this river?_

She doesn’t remember going over any bridges wide enough to cover the size of this particular river, and if the barge isn’t land-logged the water has to be too deep to drive through. Then again, they did cross over smaller creeks and streams, so there is the possibility that this water source fed into those.  Though given how thick the forest in the area is, they could have passed quite nearby and not seen it from the road.

_Where the hell are we?_

She doesn’t have much time to comprehend the question as Lilly pulls a set of keys from her jacket pocket and opens a padlock securing the cabin at the front of the boat. A firm shove from the man at Clementine’s heels propels her over the threshold, thankfully she keeps her footing. The man steps into the room but halts partway in, his wide frame blocking the doorway behind them.

The pilot house of the boat has shelves and old packing crates sitting in lines from the back wall while the console and steering gear sits by the front of the room under a wide window. In the centre of the room is a long rectangular table, papers and old tourist pamphlets shoved over to one side while the middle is occupied with a portable cook top, a metal kettle, and a pair of chipped ceramic cups.

A pair of chairs jut out from either side of the table, dividing the front and back portions of the space. Most of the surfaces are covered in a range of supplies – if she had to guess, about half of the gear looks like items they brought with them from the Delta head quarters rather than what they scavenged in the nearby area. It’s all too clean and organized to be something freshly found in rubble.

A rack of shelves seems entirely devoted to spare clothes and boots, while another houses dozens of preserves in jars. There is even a surplus of tools and first aid gear. One particular shelf has some bits of metal and electrical looking objects out in the open, like some little project one of them is working on. Though she honestly hasn’t got a clue about boats, some of the bits and pieces in the room may be very important... or just junk that looks important.

Regardless of their function, it's a huge stockpile considering the amount of people she has actually seen on the boat. It’s as if they expected to be away from home for either an extreme amount of time, or in unknown conditions. It makes Clementine feel slightly ill thinking about the vast amount of supplies the Delta was happy to send down the river without any guarantee it would come back.

Or maybe that's the point. Another show of how good things could be if she cooperates – if she just nods along with the spiel and follows the raider-brigade home like an obedient little pet.

_Like there's much chance of that._

“Tea?” Lilly offers as she sits behind the table in the middle of the room. A sickeningly sweet smell wafts from the steaming pot in front of her and adds to the overall damp atmosphere in the cramped cabin.

“No,” Clementine knows better than to take a pre-prepared drink from these people. Especially one that smells so flowery and raw. Considering the awful mood this whole dilemma is putting her in, she’d probably refuse any drink they offered – just for the little bit of satisfaction she could get from denying them.

Lilly simply smirks at the girl. “Fine. At least take a seat,” she motions towards the chair on the opposite end of the table.

With a huff, Clementine obeys; though she continues to roll her hands and tug at her ties. There is no more give in them than before. Not that having her hands free would actually benefit her much currently, not while she’s stuck in the room under Lilly’s scrutinizing gaze and quick trigger finger.

“You’ve come a long way from Macon,” Lilly mutters while leaning her elbows against the table, resting her chin against her interlocked fingers.

“I have.”

“How far with Lee?”

Clementine’s skin bristles at the question. No part of her is in the mood to reminisce with Lilly, and she can’t understand why she wants that either. Maybe if this was some cheerful reunion she could understand, but this certainly isn’t a happy affair. This is something manipulative and just far too familiar for her liking.

A leader pulling her aside to _‘chat’_ like they were friends _..._ and what a load of bullshit that has always been. Carver had tried the same, playing his own little mind games by skewing everything to the point where he was always right. Which would be fine, that just made him an asshole that was lying to himself – but then he had to drag her into it. If his view was the only right option, then the only way for Clementine to be right was to agree with him. Which she wouldn't do. It troubled her then that he thought he was drawing out a part of her that existed somewhere under her skin.

No, she was an eleven year old with morals and enough brains to know he was a greying and immoral man. They weren't the same, no matter what he said.

But she can play along with this new game for now, just until she can figure out the angle. Finding the manipulator’s purpose could let her turn the plot around – let the Delta think they’re winning when in reality she can see their hand. Even if it doesn’t solve all of Clementine and her friend’s problems, it could give them all more insight on where the plan is trying to lead them.

Something tells her Lilly isn’t playing the same game as Carver, but she can’t be sure. Maybe she just wants to believe she isn’t.

“Work with me here, Clementine,” Lilly breathes out harshly, standing from her chair and circling the table to sit on the edge in front of the silent girl. Her looming posture makes Clem scoot back in her chair, but she keeps her features schooled into a blank glare. “This is just a friendly chat, like old times. Is it so hard to believe that I care?”

“You killed Mitch. Shot AJ –”

 “Abel was the one who –”

“–and that’s all after you shot Carley and left with our RV. You sure as fuck didn’t give a shit about any of us then.”

A bark of laughter erupts from Lilly that does nothing to calm Clem’s rising temper. “What a mouth on this one,” she looks over at the man by the door, an amused smile splitting his square jaw. “Who taught you to talk like that? Surely not Lee. Was it Kenny, then? Or someone else?”

“It doesn’t matter, they’re all dead now.” It sounded far less morbid in her head, but something about this conversation thread is twisting her insides. The sooner she can drop the topic the better.

“Forgive me for not crying,” Lilly waves the words off sarcastically. "How'd they all go? Don't get me wrong, I couldn't care less about whether Kenny suffered. But Lee... he was too kind hearted for his own good. Softer than he should have been given his past. You might not believe me, but I didn't wish anything bad to happen to him. Or you for that matter."

"Lee turned. It was a few days after you left." Clementine scans Lilly's face, hoping to find some semblance of guilt. It wasn't her fault at all, but she has no reason to know that. For all Lilly knew they never got that train working and had to wander through the walker infested forests.

"That's a shame," the smallest hint of sadness flits through her eyes, her eyelids lowering minutely, though it isn’t enough for Clementine to believe whatever this act is. "And the others?"

"Don't pretend you care about them. They're all dead, learning how they went isn't going to help you.”

"Call it cathartic then. Kenny took my family from me but I did nothing about it at the time... keeping the peace, you understand. I feel like I deserve to know what happened to my father's murderer."

Clementine exhales sharply through her nose, the noise echoing loudly in the small room. "I killed him." This time she gets the reaction she expects, Lilly's eyebrows rising and her head tipping back mildly with surprise. "He tried to hurt my friend, and I shot him. I hesitated then because I knew him – but I don't repeat my mistakes."

Lilly's shocked expression resets quickly before returning to that fake smile, like Clementine's threat simply didn't happen. It’s too late now though, Clem had seen the split second where the veneer peeled away. The brief moment where raw emotions won out over the tailored act the woman is playing.

“Try to understand, Clementine, I’m only your enemy if _you_ make me your enemy. I've already won this fight, but you don't have to be a captive forever. If you cooperate then you and your little friends can have food, water, and safe walls," her voice drips with honey in a way that is so unlike the Lilly she remembers; another performance that sounds so thoroughly practiced. “Everything all those dead people you cared about wanted for you. We could just have a pleasant chat, but it’s _you_ who wants to make things difficult.”

“I had everything I wanted before you came along.”

“Oh, is that so? It didn’t seem that way to us, but then again, the Delta can hold its own against half a dozen attackers."

"Not _all_ of you."  It's a cruel move and Clementine knows it. They had killed that man with the long beard, well _she_ had killed that man using Aasim's brick trap. She didn't really want anyone at all to die that day, but they drew first blood... everything after that was on them. Of course they never would have considered that the kids would put up so much of a fight, and that mistake was on them. They could have turned around and left without losing anyone at all.

A contemptuous glare from Lilly isn't enough to make Clementine feel regret for her actions. It was just one more of those _‘us or them’_ situations – still, too little too late for some of them.

"Where's Abel, Lilly?” Clementine continues, twisting the figurative knife in Lilly’s side. “Because he couldn't beat me in a fight, so I guess he's too weak to be part of your group.”

"Shut your fucking mouth," the burly man by the door bellows threateningly. The unexpected noise makes Clem flinch, she had been ignoring the man and his imposing presence, which may have been a mistake given how his voice startled her so easily. Her ire has been far more focussed on Lilly instead of the unknown muscleman.

Lilly raises her hand in the man's direction, signalling him to stop. "Why don't you tell me, Clementine... where do you think Abel is?"

_What?_

Clementine can't help the curious tilt of her head. She had broken the man's leg and Rosie was busy mauling his arm when Clementine decided her attention was better used elsewhere – namely taking out the kidnappers who had their hands all over her friends. And if Lilly is asking then maybe she doesn’t know if they’d finished him off or not. “Well, he’s not here. So I guess that means you left him. Kind of like how you left us on the road years ago... I wonder if he hates you for it, abandoning him with no way to follow you.”

Lilly’s fingers tap on the wooden surface of the table. Clementine thinks she may have struck a nerve.

“You know I broke his leg, right?” Clem says before peering over to the man by the door, his dark eyes narrowing at the girl’s attempts to rattle his composure. “She’s tried to throw out liabilities before,” she addresses the man in a nearly casual tone, “for your sake you better not trip.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Lilly interjects with a snarky huff. “At least I devoted myself to protecting the group – I didn’t give up on that until it became a lost cause. Unlike you with that boy downstairs. He couldn’t walk and you left him behind.”

 _Omar_...

Clementine’s confident facade weakens for a second; Lilly jumps on that brief insecurity. “Did you forget about him? We didn’t. And we’re making sure that wound gets cleaned – would your kids do the same for Abel?”

 _Probably not_ is Clementine’s instinctive guess, but the comparison isn’t fair. “Omar didn’t do anything to any of you. But Abel chose to fight me, and you chose to leave him there.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

It really bothers Clementine that Lilly seems more upset about Abel’s unknown state than the definitive fate of Lee and the other people she used to care about. Though that comparison probably isn’t very fair either.

"I told him you wouldn’t be taken down easily, that fighting you wouldn’t end well. Survivors don’t last this long and travel as far as we have without becoming stronger. One run in with you was enough to prove that. The locals think they’re all big fish, but we’re the big fish from a far bigger pond.”

 _And there it is,_ the moment Clementine expected from the start of this interrogation disguised as banter. “We’re not the same Lilly, not anymore.” _Probably not ever._ Even the happier moments at the motor inn feel false in retrospect. A less manipulative version of the same act.

Lilly lets out a single quiet laugh, amused by Clem’s certainty. “We’re both fighters Clem, there’s no point denying that. But you were the only fighter at that school, if it wasn’t us it would be someone else next week.”

“I doubt it.” The school isn’t an easy place to find – even if her and AJ were actually looking for it, she doubts they would have ever found it. The kids had stumbled across them in a perfect cross-section of luck and good timing.

Lilly doesn’t seem bothered by Clementine’s rebuttal as she continues without acknowledging her argumentative attitude. “You should be happy it was us who found you. If it was anyone else they’d rather take everything and leave you for dead, or trade you off to someone else who would do worse.” Her eyes scan over Clementine like an insect under glass. It makes her squirm in the chair. “I don’t know what kind of people you’ve met over the years, but I’ve seen all sorts; people who do far worse things than relocating a few people for a good cause. We’re offering a new home. A home that won't fall as easily as that school.”

“Your home isn’t mine to defend. If it was really worth protecting all of you would be doing it instead of being out here. You’re just throwing us at the problem and hoping it’ll turn around.” Clementine leans forward in her chair, spitting her words at the looming woman. “Fuck that.”

As if a switch had been flipped, the social smile and casual demeanour falls from the woman's face. Now she’s back to those stern eyes and that tense way she always held her mouth when something ticked her off. Her entire posture turns rigid, her arms crossing over her chest as her shoulders lift. Lilly still is her father’s daughter, in expression and in temper. At least that’s one thing about her that hasn’t changed – it isn’t really anything positive, but it’s something that hasn’t taken a severe downturn over the years.

“You don’t speak for all of them, Clementine. How long before one of those boys gives in for a slice of cornbread, or a real shower? Nightlights for that little boy of yours." Clementine’s toes curl in her boots – _how dare she use AJ as a piece in her game_. "How long before that school crumbles without all of you there to pull the other's weight for them? And then maybe you’ll find what we all do – that what we are trying to save is worth fighting for. You’ll beg us to go get your friends from the school so that they can eat and be safe with the rest of you. All of the heavy hitters are here, the little ones back at that school won't last without coming with us."

“Fuck you,” Clem bites back, too frustrated to keep the thin remains of her self-control in place. “They’re too strong to fall for your bullshit.”

“No, Clementine. Maybe you see you and your friends as strong, but here’s the difference...” She leans forward, pointing her finger into Clementine’s face and forcing the girl to lean back in her chair – the legs of the chair making an awful screech as she scoots back. “I can’t break you. You won’t break because of me, _but they will_. And I get the feeling those boys won’t mind taking the punishment for the trouble you cause – they seems like nice young men. I mean, you put your neck on the line for that boy yesterday so he must be important to you.” She leans back again, a shrewd smile on her face. “And he seemed to lose all his fight when you fell. We didn’t have to knock him out, did you know that? Dorian hauled him into the cart with only the smallest bit of effort. Do they all give up so quickly, or is that just him?”

Never in Clementine's life has she wanted to punch someone in the mouth just so they'd stop talking. All the little truths and dirty lies mashing together into an indistinguishable mass – she tries to remind herself that Lilly has every reason to undermine her confidence right now. Buying into the insults doesn’t solve anything. It all has to be lies, she doesn't want to even humour her by pretending otherwise.

 Lilly seems unaffected by Clementine’s heated glare. If anything she looks amused, the corners of her mouth lifting into a wider grin. “You won’t have to worry about them for long. The Delta will turn them into fighters. And if they refuse... well, you don’t need all your fingers to fire a gun, Clem, or two legs to sit at a lookout point. You’d be surprised by how little a soldier really needs to keep fighting.”

She clenches her fists, the ties digging into her skin like a knife. “If you touch any of them–”

“I don’t think I’ll have to,” she smiles and Clementine can’t suppress the squeezing feeling in her chest. Like a ball of tar and metal that threatens to flatten her lungs against her ribs. “We’re done here. Maybe next time you’ll feel more cooperative.”

In the next second the burly man grips the hood of Clementine’s shirt and hauls her bodily out of the chair, sending it crashing to the floor. Clem splutters for a moment before he sweeps his boot against the back of her calves, forcing her feet back towards the doorway. The rough movement gives her a painful reminder that she’s in no fit shape to fight these people. She has no choice but to walk with the man at her heels and Lilly trailing behind him.

Air floods her lungs in one rushed motion, but she tries to slow her panicked breathing into something less painful on her chest. This isn’t the time to panic, definitely not with Lilly and Mr Muscles watching her. She can’t let them know how deep they managed to get under her skin; because it was too fuckin’ deep for her liking.

Involuntary images and sounds flash across her mind. The faces of her friends twisted into painful screams as the Delta _'turn them into soldiers'_. Because there is no way any of them would obey willingly. They'd all be dragged kicking and screaming into whatever blood-encrusted room the people used to break them into submitting.

Bones splintering and popping like twigs in a campfire. Skin and flesh being torn in one swift motion. Screaming through sutures without anaesthetic – the thought alone being enough for Clem to clench her hands into fists. Her memory of all those sounds and sensations repeating on loop while she pictures the boys in the cells struggling to deal with the scars and bloody stumps the Delta left them with.

The fear only magnifies when she pictures the kids back at the school... of little AJ looking at her, bruised and butchered, his bright eyes dulled and pleading with Clementine to somehow put everything broken back together... and when she wouldn't be able to, his eyes would turn glassy and wet. An unspoken question rolling through his mind and staining his features, too painfully obvious for Clem to ignore.

_'You said we'd be ok... Why would you let this happen?'_

Primal instinct urges her to run, to escape the bad situation as fast as possible. It briefly flashes across her mind that she could throw herself overboard and into the water. The railings aren't too high; she could potentially get over the top with enough of a run up and without using her hands. Maybe she could get to the shore, maybe she could even get to the school, and maybe she could find a way to get the others out. But it's all just too many maybes.

She isn't the most confident of swimmers at the best of times – not that she lacks the ability to keep herself moving and afloat, but she isn’t fast and gets fatigued quickly trying to correct that – with her hands stuck in front of her she doubts she can outswim any pursuers or protect herself from attackers. And they all have guns. _Lots of guns_. If she got lucky enough to dodge them, her friends stuck in their cells wouldn’t. Though given everything Lilly has said she doubts killing them would be her first response. Unfortunately, the idea of breaking them without killing them seems far more terrible to Clementine.

 _God fucking damn it_. She hates that this side of her still exists.

Of course she can’t just beat the shit out of fear, it stays in her head and screeches at her like some awful monster. Shrieking out escape plans and insecurities that are entirely unhelpful at times like these. Running isn’t an option, this isn’t like when she was out there on her own; she has people to protect. People who need her right now.

She has to smother it, filling her brain with distraction until she has a chance to calm down. Her steps slow marginally as she ponders and scopes out the ship.

All she manages to catch is the waft of smoke around the ducting, like an old campfire that was extinguished in the rain. The cold muzzle of the rifle presses into the back of her neck and stops that distraction after a mere few seconds.

She can hear the man behind her step closer, the strap of his rifle letting out the faintest sound as it flaps in the morning breeze. _Focus on them_ ; she tries to order her brain. At least if she’s keeping tabs on the Delta members she’s doing something useful.

“No dawdling,” the man’s voice booms behind her as she reaches the steep staircase back to the middle deck.

She descends the stairs into the narrow hallway that separates the four cell rooms. Peering further down the hall, she can see an open area that she assumes to be an improvised rec room. Several chairs and surfaces are covered with assorted plates and bottles. Much to Clem’s annoyance, the whole space smells of hot food. The raid at the school happened before they had a chance to have dinner, and while that was an easy thing to ignore before, the smell makes it harder to overlook. A few Delta members glance her way from a table, a woman lifting her plate in mock salute to Clementine as she stares.

“Minerva,” Lilly calls into the rec room and the ginger girl stands from one of the tables. On cue she draws her crossbow, loads a bolt, and approaches the cell.

 _No way_ , Clementine had assumed Lilly was lying back at the school about Minnie being ok. Minerva isn’t a common enough name for her to pass this girl off as a coincidence – and her features do look similar to the photos she remembers seeing in the photo album at the school. Though she didn’t imagine the twins to be quite so tall, and if not for the softness of her features Clem would have assumed she was too old to be from the school – somewhere closer to James' age than her own.  

The sudden appearance of the girl turns the situation from _pretty damn shit_ to an _absolute fucking hellhole_ in Clementine’s mind.

It wasn’t some fluke that they found the school after combing through the woods – they had directions, descriptions of who to look for, they _knew_ the school. For two weeks they were going over just as many strategies as the kids did. They could have spent months fortifying those walls, but all along they had someone to tell them where the front gate was, what spots were exploitable in the event of an attack, and how to get under the skin of the people there.

Minnie had the master key to unlock all the kids’ vulnerabilities, and she let them take it.

The only thing the girl couldn’t reveal was anything about Clementine and AJ – but then Lilly and Abel had filled in those blanks for themselves. Granted, both of them only had part of the picture, but it was enough for them to bring their own emotional ammunition to the fight. Abel knowing full well how protective she was of AJ, and Lilly pulling Lee's memory out to taunt her.

They really were fucked from the start, and now they have proof that the Delta’s tactic of offering luxuries in exchange for loyalty worked, at least they had on her. Minerva looks more like a raider-in-training than a prisoner. And of course Lilly is displaying her like an example of the perfect transformation.

What lies did they feed to her to make her so cooperative? Did Marlon talk them into it – spinning his trade-off as something temporary that she simply played along with until it became real? Did the twins even attempt to fight it?

“To the back wall, Louis,” the girl in question motions with the crossbow aimed into the cell. After a few seconds she nods to the man beside Clementine who unlocks the door latch before shoving her through the doorway far more roughly than necessary. At least the vertigo had let up enough that she doesn’t feel like she’s about to unceremoniously kiss the floor.

The door slams shut with a loud bang and clank as someone drops the latch. “Hands by the bars,” Minerva speaks harshly. Clementine follows the order, gripping one of the bars between her palms while glaring into the taller girl’s eyes. She tries to find some hint of familiarity or resistance reflected in her gaze, but it just isn’t there. This girl has sunk to something other than an unwilling co-operator. She seems hollow, like she's sleepwalking. Or perhaps she has gone full turncoat, justifying her actions in the same way the rest of them do.

Minerva lowers the crossbow and steps away from the bars to make room for Lilly. From her pocket she pulls out a thin piece of metal, possibly a hair pin, and shoves it into the gap in the cable-tie before pulling the restraint off. Angry red marks circle Clementine’s wrists; Lilly’s eyes seem to fixate on the line of forming blisters before stepping back from the bars.

“Listen up boys,” Lilly announces to Louis, Aasim, and Omar. “There will be zero tolerance for misbehaviour on my boat. You will follow orders. You will not try to attack anyone on this boat. You will not try to exit your rooms. To make it very clear to you all, if one of you causes trouble, you'll all be punished.”

 Clementine glares daggers at the woman while willing herself not to fall to pieces; she wants nothing more than to wipe the condescending grin off of her face. But she fears her voice would waver if she tried to fight back with words.

“Clementine has decided that none of you deserve food today – and since I’m feeling generous this morning, there won’t be a punishment for trying to remove your restraints.” The next sentence she speaks softer, as if for Clementine’s ears only. “If we all work together here, we all eat. It’s only fair.”

With her speech finished, Lilly turns heel and begins to walk back upstairs, the other two continuing down the hall and into the main body of the boat.

Clementine feels paralysed by the doorway, her mind working too fast for her body to do anything other than stand. It’s a conscious effort to keep breathing around the lump in her throat.

_We need to get out, but if we don’t leave all at once we'll lose whoever is left._

_If we escape we’ll have to bolt to the school, take everyone and keep running._

_Being on the boat isn’t safe. Going to the Delta isn’t safe. Escaping isn’t safe. The school isn’t safe. Being on the run isn’t safe._

“ _Fuck_.” Her forehead falls to the bars in front of her. She doesn't care about the little catches of metal that dig into her forehead, or the dull thud that rattles her skull with the impact. There are far too many problems to solve and no obvious solutions.

They had lost the first fight, and the battle from here is looking more like a vertical slope than a scalable hill.


	4. Chapter 4

Clementine remains stuck by the barred doorway of the cell, her forehead pressing into the metal and her unfocused eyes searching the toes of her boots for answers. No matter how long she searches there will be no response – logically she knows that, but she doesn't know what else she can possibly do.

A voice in the back of her head chastises her for daring to get comfortable at the school. Every other time she felt safe something came along to pull the rug out from under her; why would it be any different this time? Like she, by simply existing, became a magnet for the worst sort of situations. And it was never anything to do with the location itself; no, it was always because someone had to show up and piss on her parade.

Manoeuvring in a broken world is something she's had enough experience in to handle; scrounging in derelict buildings and picking through the fresher corpses might still cause a flutter of concern, though it’s hardly anything compared to how everyone reacted at the start. But people who were broken by the world are so much harder to deal with, and it’s a problem that only gets worse the longer everyone survives.

Survivors come in all sorts; leaders, rebuilders, traders, scavengers, hunters, bandits... all of them found a way to keep going, whether peacefully or forcefully, but some just broke along the way. Sometimes it took them a while to notice, each one enduring hit after hit until something had to give.

Katjaa, Christa, Carver, Sarah, Kenny, Jane, and David. All of them broke at some point, though they carried on for a time after, but they weren’t the same as they were before everything else fell apart. And once they reached that point they were no longer survivors, they fell out of that category and into another.

The broken ones only seemed to come in two varieties.

The first crumbled in on themselves – there were plenty of them at the start, but the number only goes down. Most of them either endured one too many punches and gave in, or were sheltered too severely to cope once things got too tough. When everything was safe they tended to function quite well, but the moment things turned they would fall apart all over again. More shattered each time and with less chance of putting the puzzle back together properly.

They were the sort that survived through gentle touches and handholding; neither of which she thinks is necessarily a bad thing, although that support is often one of the first things to vanish in life or death situations. If they weren't strong enough to survive without the support, then they fell permanently. Clem rarely encounters those sorts of people anymore, what with her being on the road for so long.

The second variety is the opposite. Instead of falling apart they fill in the cracks with concrete and rebar; sticking tape over the old wounds and letting them fester beneath the surface. Slowly encasing themselves in thick armour, little splinters and thorns sprouting out with each new blow dealt to them. Clem has run into this type far too often. They were the leaders and the marauders, the stone-cold men and women who ran on their own, or gathered a following because they projected themselves as bigger, smarter, or stronger than any threat. When in reality they just managed to create the biggest wall – protecting themselves behind bravado or enough bodies to make a swift getaway should things turn sour.

It's a different sort of broken, the sort that keeps existing, but has become something completely different in the struggle to carry on. Broken _people_ as opposed to just being _broken_.

 Lilly is the latter type, walking through crowds and catching every passerby on her barbs. People either walk with her or they tear chunks off themselves by pulling away. Those hooks are stuck in Clem and her friends now, through the skin and muscle and further still, making sure there isn’t a gentle way to break free.

_And which one am I?_ Clementine questions herself, trying to determine whether she has stepped over that threshold into being _broken_. She feels like she is constantly being slingshot between the extremes, and each time she narrowly avoids shattering completely. It troubles her most that she can’t tell where the tipping point is anymore, not knowing whether she has gone too far and won’t bounce back this time. 

_God_... she needs AJ right now. When he’s around her emotions stayed in check – he gave her clearer focus. Keeping him calm has always been her top priority, and doing so kept her distracted from the panic that lurched from her chest and into the back of her eyes. Without him around...

Calloused fingers circle her left wrist. She had forgotten Louis was stuck in the cell with her; too busy stuck in her own head. How long has she been standing there? She doesn't know and that makes the squirming in her chest even more erratic.

His gentle grip slowly pulls her away from the door, her body moving like a puppet with its strings cut while her eyes stay fixed towards the floor.

“Clem?” It's barely a whisper, a puff of air filled with quiet concern. The sound is enough to make her face muscles twitch; she just can’t bring herself to look at him.

These people don’t know the emotional her, only the tougher than nails girl who could survive outside of the walls they relied on so heavily. Someone who kept an infant alive for years in a world that chewed up far stronger people in a heartbeat. A girl who pulled through a walker infested car accident with no more than a cut above her ear and a headache.

_That girl_ doesn’t get overwhelmed. _She_ doesn’t get emotional when she doesn’t know what to do.

But _Clementine_ does. Maybe not always outwardly, but every floodwall breaks eventually; whether in trickles or a flooding rush, everything held back has to go somewhere. _No tears, I won’t cry_.

She doesn’t want them to know they trusted someone like that to keep them all safe. Because in the end she couldn’t help them, Clementine wasn’t enough to actually save them. She wanted to be... _tried to be_. But this problem is bigger than she alone can handle.

Maybe if she had shown them her weaker side to begin with they would have known better than to put so much faith in her. She should have shown her scars, the emotional and physical reminders of everything she has been through – at least then they could have made a decision knowing both her strengths and weaknesses. Then she wouldn’t feel like she had lied to them by wearing the confident mask; even if the confidence was what they all needed at the time.

Noises reach her ears from multiple directions but her brain is short-circuiting. It’s probably Louis, and maybe someone else too, however none of the sounds make sense. The whole room might as well be trembling, the very air vibrating as turbulently as her mind. The grip on her wrist squeezes tighter before shaking. She can even feel the breeze being pushed into her face from Louis’ close talking – her eyes watching his lips and teeth move while her ears buzz with static.

_I need to breathe_ , she reminds herself but struggles to actually follow through with the self-imposed order. _You can’t break; you’re not allowed to break_.

Then in the next moment there is a tug on her wrist. She feels herself be pulled forward and is enveloped by Louis’ arms. The warmth of his body melts into her even as she remains rigid. There's something desperate about the way he arches over her, pulling her tight against his chest and shoulder like she might pull back and vanish – his hands clinging to the back of her jacket and his ear pressing firmly against the side of her head.

Clementine’s arms stay fixed by her side, hands clenching tight enough to leave crescent indents in her palms. The clawing in her chest continues to skitter, like a trapped bird thrashing against its cage.

Perhaps it should feel comforting or affectionate. She wants it to be that way, to have some minor semblance of the normal day they had yesterday. The shy glances and slow advances that warmed her heart and made her feel giddy despite the awful circumstances surrounding them. Instead she just feels awkward – more than she did sitting at that piano and pouring her heart out.

All sharp angles that won’t fit nicely against him because she can’t find the wherewithal to bend.

Vulnerability isn’t something she’s good at, and having someone offer her comfort somehow makes it worse. Like they can see the squishy bits she tries so hard to keep covered. Clearly Louis could tell she was bordering on breaking – which is unacceptable, _no one should know_.

_But that’s not Louis’ fault_... Of course it’s not his fault. He’s just doing what anyone who cared would do; what all the kids probably did for each other. They have survived this long by clinging together to weather through the storms.

And if it isn’t Louis’ fault, then the awful feeling must be born from her own befuddled brain. But it doesn’t have to be that way. What’s one more thing to fight?

It takes a monumental effort, but she forces her hands up to hold onto the tattered hem of his shirt. It isn’t what she wants it to be, but it's marginally less one-sided. It's all she has to offer in her guilt-ridden mindset. There is just nothing in her that feels like she deserves the comfort he's offering, though that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve an acknowledgement of his efforts. He’s trying, and god damn him for noticing how badly she needs him right now.

_Once we get home_ , she thinks, _everything will be ok once we get home_. Behind the safety of the school gates she will relish the opportunity to cling to him with every fibre in her being, she will take every moment of comfort and frame it on the walls of her mind forever. But they aren’t at home, and she can’t be sure whether that home will still be there for them.

"You ok?" Louis whispers over her shoulder before squeezing her tighter. At least she can hear him over the din in her brain, however the pressure he’s putting on her torso is becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Although, that may be due to both the guilty weight and falling off of that balcony rather than Louis being too forceful.

"I don't know," she lies – it would be too much for her emotional state to share every little thought in her head right now. "I just... I just need to calm down". _I don't know what I did to deserve someone to care like this._

Finally, he pulls away while shifting his grip to her shoulders, her fingertips still gingerly curled in the hem of his shirt. She feels a little ashamed for being relieved, her gaze still avoiding his eyes. "Are you sure, Clem? You don't look well, definitely not as good as normal," he tries to joke but there's no confidence in his voice which unfortunately just makes him sound sad.

“I just need a moment.” She hopes that's true. A heavy sigh escapes her, and it too causes an uncomfortable twinge in her chest. “Nothing’s ever easy, is it?”

“Not anything worth trying for, no.” A sad smile pulls at his lips. She appreciates his effort, but they both know there isn't really anything to smile about at the moment. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth before he lets out a steadying breath. Clementine finally brings herself to look into his eyes, the dark colours reflecting back at her with a mix of sympathy and curiosity. “What’d she say to you?”

He gives a reassuring squeeze to her shoulders. It's just enough of a distraction for her to not focus on the anxious part of her mind. Clem’s eyes flitter up to catch the concerned angle of his brow.   _Breathe_. _You can be better than this_. “She, uh, wanted me to talk about old stuff. Bad stuff that we didn’t really need to talk about at all. I guess she wants us unsteady.”

_And I wish it didn’t work_.

“Makes sense... you saw Minnie.” He removes his hands from Clementine and instead folds his arms against his chest. She doesn’t like the troubled look he wears – she wishes she knew how to wipe the look away. “I mean, it’s her but it isn’t. She looks like her but... shit, she looks at us and seems happy we’re here. She asked us if Tenn was ok – which I guess is like her – but the second Aasim asked about Sophie, she was just _gone_. Told us to keep quiet and wait, and that if we behaved the Delta would take us in. _'Like family'_ ,” he adds the last words in exaggerated air quotes.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

The strange man who kept her from Lee also spoke a lot about being a family and it didn’t sit well with her then either – her father was the only man she ever wanted to call Dad, no matter what that strange man wanted. She doesn’t need any more forced family member. If she is ever going to call anyone brother, sister, mother, or father again then she’ll be the one to decide that; and she certainly wouldn’t be putting any of the Delta members on the list.

“And there’s more," Clem mumbles, pulling her own arms across her chest. "She was quite eager to mention how she’d punish us for not listening to her. It’s... not great.”

“Of course it’s not. Do me a favour and don’t tell me how bad it is. I think it’s better if I don’t know.”

“I kind of wish I didn’t know either.” It would have helped her keep her composure. Clementine takes another deep breath, closing her eyes as she holds it for a few seconds before exhaling. She's trying to banish the awful images Lilly had conjured in her head. The idea of any of the kids losing bits to keep them calm was bad enough without the details. She doesn’t want to ponder the specifics, but they're there nonetheless.

“I _really_ hope she’s bluffing,” she whispers under her breath.

Clementine opens her eyes to see Louis pacing the room, his hands planted on his hips as his attention moves from the walls to the fixtures in the room then back again. He seems to move with nervous energy, the heels of his boots squeaking as he sharply turns after the few steps it takes to cross the space.

“Louis?”

“I’m just thinking – and before you say it, yeah _haha_ I get the joke, Louis is thinking – but there has to be something, right? We can’t just sit here. I need to..." Louis gestures wildly like he can somehow pluck the words out of the air. "I need to step the fuck up."

His choice of words causes Clementine to flinch. He spits the words out like they’re orders he doesn’t want; and Clem remembers the taste of them on her lips. They were harsh words that spilled out of her with her desperation, sheer panic at Marlon swinging that gun in her face. And he had stepped up then, he had helped her talk the situation out with Marlon and everyone else... and in the process he had helped AJ kill his friend. The fact that he still had the phrase rolling around in his head doesn't feel right. She wonders if he actually remembers that those words came from her, or if they spontaneously occurred to him now.

 “Just...” _just what?_ He may be doing this for the wrong reason, but he is right; sitting still is the same as waiting for the window of opportunity to close them in. Then there's the ever-present threat that Lilly will destroy them if she gets even the slightest whisper of them trying to escape. “Just be careful. Don’t underestimate her,” she says the words sternly.

Louis gives her a swift nod as he continues to pace. She wants to say more, to reassure him that there is a difference between stepping up when it matters and taking on more than you can handle. But she doesn't want to squash the determination he has at the moment, his head held high and a purpose to his movements. If he can throw himself into a task, then maybe he won't dwell on how precarious of a position they are all trapped in.

Clementine moves to press her side against the barred doorway. If Louis is willing to risk searching for an escape, then the least she can do is keep watch. Plus the room feels stifling to her at the moment, like the air is too thin. Putting her face close to the bars helps her breathe better – or at least it feels like it does, and that’s enough to settle the most frayed edges of her nerves.

Pushing aside the defeatist thoughts is easier with someone else there. She makes a mental note that she seriously owes Louis for that. No good can come from getting stuck in the pit of self-pity and guilt. Once they get home she'll have to find a way to thank him properly. Back in a place where they can unload all the twisted memories and untangle the little moments that built up to save them in small ways.

Something about the confinement makes those things difficult to see as they happen.

She turns her attention back to the current situation, ears straining to pick apart the parts of the boat that she can’t see. Muffled voices seem to be echoing from somewhere below the cells, and there’s a rhythmic patter that might be footsteps on the floor above them, but aside from those distant sounds all seems normal – she might even call it peaceful if it weren't for the bars. She waits a few seconds, listening intently for any signs of the Delta nearby. The hallway is clear as far as she can tell, and there are no noises from the rec room.

What she can hear is Louis' boots on the floor, and the patter from the cell diagonally across from them. Quieter, yet more unevenly spaced; like they are trying to be silent but can’t bring themselves to hold still.

“Aasim,” she speaks through the bars, being careful to keep her voice level so as not to alarm anyone who might be listening in from one of the different floors. The pattering stops briefly before the poor boy approaches his doorway looking like he hasn’t slept for the past week. Though, now that she thinks about it, he was always awake before her during their preparations for the attack and she didn't see him go to bed either – granted, she tended to turn in earlier than the others to make sure AJ was settled. “Are you both ok?”

Aasim draws a rough breath through his nose, clearly not altogether composed. “What is there to be ok about? Omar’s leg is swollen. His knee is fuckin’ purple,” he seethes the last words through his teeth, his voice struggling not to rise in volume. Each of his knuckles turn white and red as his right hand grips the metal beams of the door. “At least he’s asleep now, but there’s no way he can walk at the moment. And... I can’t stop watching him,” he looks over his shoulder while pulling his lips between his teeth. “Just in case he’s not sleeping anymore.”

Clementine can see how badly rattled Aasim is, maybe even more so than when he was nearly killed by that walker on the day she met him. “He’ll be fine, so long as it’s stopped bleeding and he’s resting. One bullet hurts, but on the leg it won’t kill him. He’ll be fine,” she repeats the words as Aasim fidgets. Clementine doesn’t like handing out absolutes, but the forlorn Aasim looks like he needs the reassurance right now. “He’s not going to die, and he’s not going to turn. And _you_ , are you ok?”

“None of this is ok. This isn’t how the plan was supposed to go.”

“ _Aasim_ ,” she raises her voice slightly since he seems to be falling into the same rabbit hole that she had moments ago. “Are. You. Hurt.”

“I... No, not hurt. Fuck,” he curses as he pushes himself away from the doorway. Even with the distance between the cells, Clementine can see his eyes flicker back to a fixed point in the room, she assumes Omar sleeping on the bed in their cell. “I don’t like any of this." Aasim rubs his hand across his face, lingering around his chin as he continues to ponder his way through the situation. "There’s four of us and four cells – and the only thing I can think is they’re going back to put the others in the spare cells. They’re planning ahead; they don’t want us rushing out when they put the others in. Or they think putting us together gives us more weaknesses,” his eyes dart to the side again, “keeping us focused on each other instead of a way out.”

_Of course_. Aasim had said he was a planner; he was used to dissecting these things down to their bones. He would be trying to make sense of Lilly’s plot from the second he was forced into it. “We’ll try to not let anything happen,” she pauses to listen for people in the halls. When she's sure they're alone she speaks quietly. “Louis is checking the cell for anything that might help us. Can you check yours?”

“Yeah, ok. Anything to get us out.”

“Just keep your attention up. Lilly won’t mess around if she catches us.” She decides to keep the possible repercussions to herself – the last thing they need is another threat to panic over. Hopefully she won’t have to explain until they are all out far away from the boat.

“Well we better not get caught,” Aasim mutters before walking out of Clem’s vision.

A silent prayer runs through Clementine’s head. As uncharitable as it may seem, she knows that while her friends are strong they are still too sheltered to deal with this situation well. They had suffered through loss and hardships revolving around food and shelter – but they didn’t have to survive the ordeals brought on by other survivors. At least not in the same ways she has.

They ran into people when they left home, and the danger stayed outside the walls where it belonged. Clementine didn’t have the luxury of walls most of the time. Danger walked into her whether she liked it or not. And even when she had fences and walls something always came along to tear them down. Break-ins, kidnappings, ambushes, sieges, walker herds... she’s been at the centre of all the worst case scenarios and managed to come out the other side – and occasionally she has even played the perpetrator rather than the victim in those events.

The only way she pulled through during those awful times was with the help of stronger people around her. It's a little frightening to think she will have to play that role for her friends; whether she’s capable is what worries her. She had already screwed the situation up once before and that had landed them in this mess – nothing good can come from failing again.

With AJ they never found themselves in a situation that needed quite so much separation and coordination. If something seemed like it could go bad, they didn’t risk it, better to move on and take their chances elsewhere.

That’s not a choice here. They are stuck without the option of picking a different time or place to deal with it. With the other situations like this she was used to being a part of the planning, then executing the portion that was best suited for her – discussing the problem with people who had just as much or more knowledge than her. Tackling all the angles at once and managing other people with less experience isn’t something she’s used to on this scale.

She will just have to try.

So she stays by the doorway, listening for the noises of the Delta moving all throughout the boat. She clears her throat to signal whenever she hears someone thudding on the stairs, or footfalls echoing up the hallway approaching the cells.

Louis, in all of his suave glory, picks the nearest wall and leans against it. “ _Casual”_ , he mouths the word to her, wrapping his arms around his chest and crossing his legs at the ankle. The overplayed smile is like the cherry on the cake... but the cake is all frosting over a cardboard frame.

To Clem the posture screams _I’m the cool kid and this is how I stand all the time_. It isn’t convincing in the least, especially given the circumstances they’re all stuck in. No one would buy his act as normal, but it makes her chuckle, which in turn makes him laugh and actually forces a more natural stance from the pair of them.

It probably looks strange to the patrolling Delta member who shoots them a curious glare as she passes by, but perhaps it is better that they think that their kiddie captives are too cheerful rather than distressed. At least it feels better to Clem – the patroller probably thinks they’ve all gone mental, which still beats the alternative of them thinking they are looking for an escape.

Every ten to fifteen minutes the whole cycle of searching and acting casual repeats – the patrolling lady presumably doing full laps throughout the boat.

By the fourth patrol the casual act fails to relieve the tension. Louis checks and rechecks the room several times over, tapping the back panelling of the empty cupboards, running his hands over the broken sink and its plumbing, tracing the edges of the windows for weaknesses or hidden latches, and even pulling the curtains down and shoving them under the mattress along with hiding the waste basket under the bed frame. The last part is Clem’s input, as it just seems like a bizarre oversight to give them any resources at all. If no one notices, they might be useful in some way, and if they suddenly call them out on the curtains absence, it isn’t too outlandish to say they wanted more blankets.

By the eighth patrol the pair spend longer acting casual than actually searching. Footsteps approach and fade into the distance while they continue to stare at the floor; trying in vain to come up with some sort of solution, there has to be another place to check.

In her old books she remembers trapped explorers finding buttons on the walls that opened up hidden doorways. As if ancient civilisations built little switches and pressure plates just in case someone got stuck inside one of the traps. It was a silly thing then, and sillier now to still pop up into her mind. Not that she really expects an old steam boat to have hidden passageways, but she’s starting to wish those things weren’t so trapped in fantasy.

But there are no escape hatches to be found. Then the tenth patrol passes while she and Louis are still leaning against the walls from the ninth.

 There just isn’t anything that they can actually use. Aasim similarly comes up with nothing, his teeth worrying his lip the whole time he stands by the doorway.

They all have only themselves and the indiscernible mumbles that carry throughout the boat for company.

Would it be better if the others were there? Would Violet know a way out, or Ruby? Could Tenn have appealed to Minnie, breaking whatever spell Lilly had put onto her to keep her in line? Mitch would probably be bouncing off the walls until either the boat broke or he did, and Willy would be trailing along behind him with just as much enthusiasm. AJ would always go along with whatever Clem thought, which would be a huge benefit if she could put any tangible ideas together at the moment.

Not that she wishes any of them got captured too, but she desperately wants someone else to be there to take some of the weight off of her shoulders. Because she is at her wits end, she can’t make an escape with what’s in the cell, and none of them can open the doors. Though, even if they could get outside of the cell they’d still have to manoeuvre around the patrol and all the other Delta members.

Clem’s thoughts are interrupted by more footsteps, this time encroaching in a pair and far too early to be the same patroller – at least if she trusts her internal clock. They had all stopped searching the cells, so they weren’t in danger of being caught out, but the change in the routine makes ice form in her stomach.

She peers out the door to see a pair of men approaching the cells, coming to a stop in the middle of the hallway. The burly man from before has his back to her, his focus directed into the cell holding Aasim and Omar. Beside him is a second man with brown hair and a dark scruffy beard – another raider who she doesn’t recognise. He looks frail in comparison to his bigger companion; though she knows he's still larger than her or her friends could manage if he wanted a fight.

The smaller man taps his rifle against the metal entryway to the other cell. “To the corner,” he orders before unlatching the door. “Are you going to behave?” His tone edges on mocking and Clementine can’t tell if he's seriously waiting for an answer.

When all she hears is silence she starts to feel herself panic, going right up to the bars to see if she can see Aasim on the other side of the Delta men. Louis edges up beside her, immediately standing on his toes to get a glimpse of what's happening.

The smaller man tuts his tongue before entering the cell. “Arms out,” the mocking edge is gone; all of it has been replaced with a tone of authority. She can hear the familiar clicking of a cable tie and in the next moment Aasim is shoved out of the doorway and directed by the man down the far end of the hall – in the opposite direction to where Lilly and the bigger man directed Clem before.

“Where are you taking him?” Louis’ voice causes Clementine to flinch, both because of the loudness and the fact that he seems to have decided now is the appropriate time to get lippy with these people. “Where the hell are you taking him?!”

“Louis,” she warns while gripping his forearm with both of her hands, stopping him from trying to reach out of the bars. Fighting them at every corner will just cause a backlash. They have to be careful about this and not walk headfirst into two men with rifles. Two _big_ men who could deck them even without the rifles.

To the bigger man’s credit and Clementine’s relief, he doesn’t rise to the bait and simply aims a glare at Louis over his shoulder before continuing to ignore the boy. He too disappears into the room and after a brief squabble reappears with Omar in his grip. It's the first time Clem has actually seen the boy since she woke up on the boat. He looks both pained and panicked – his face pale and his hair in a dishevelled mess. She thinks his silence is more likely out of fear than a survival tactic.

They don’t bother cable-tying him, and sadly Clem can understand why. Omar has very little fight in him at the moment; his only priority being to take the weight off of his leg. The burly man has his left arm hooked under Omar’s right, keeping his rifle hand free while simultaneously dragging the boy down the hall. The tense pull of Omar’s face makes it abundantly clear that even with the support he's still uncomfortable.

Louis’ arm tenses and Clementine pulls harshly against him. It doesn’t stop him from calling after the man’s back. “Don’t you hurt him, you giant fuckhead!”

“Seriously, Louis, you need to shut up. You _can’t_ antagonise them –“

“And I can’t just let these dicks take them!”

“We are not letting them _take them!_ " Their raised voices echo back from the hallway. _Great_ , now the whole boat knows that the pair of them have lost their cool. Clementine lowers her volume, and tries her best to keep the scolding note out of her voice. "Think for a second. They want soldiers, they aren’t about to kill them. It’s probably just another talk, like Lilly with me.” It all makes sense in her head, but she feels like she's somehow betraying him to say it. The flashes of anger and the awful tenseness to his brow just breaks her heart – like he could either punch the wall or burst into tears. “They’re not stupid, they’ll keep quiet, and they’ll come back.”

“So what, we just wait?” Louis snaps bitterly. “I can’t just... I _can’t..._ They’ve already...” He doesn’t finish the sentence, ending each word with a huff; all of his sour thoughts crashing together and dying before he can voice them. The muscles of his arm pulse as he repeatedly tenses his hands.

All Clem can offer him is a sad nod and a firm grip on his arm.

She wants to do more, to chase the shadows away from his eyes, but he pulls away from her before she can make an attempt; his breathing harsh and movements sharp. She doesn’t try to stop him, but she won’t deny that it hurts to have him so readily brush her off.

Louis walks to the far side of the room with one hand raking through his hair and his other planted firmly on his hip. He stares at the corner of the room before turning to pace the floor of the cell, his dreads shifting with each angry turn he makes. Unfortunately she knows the only real way to reassure the both of them is to see Aasim and Omar coming back to their cell in one piece.

The waiting-game has never been Clementine’s favourite option though it doesn’t appear she has any other choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick question for readers - how uncomfortable/dark are you guys happy with me going with this story?
> 
> -Pi


	5. Chapter 5

Clementine watches as Louis continues to pace the length of the cell, his hands on his hips and eyes angrily scouring the floor like it might somehow be intimidated into solving their problems. She had been counting his laps but found it pointless after the twentieth rotation. Instead she stays on the little cot, absently playing with the cuffs of his previously discarded coat.

One of the cuff buttons is loose and the other is circled with tape. She briefly wonders why he hasn't just replaced the other button or sewn together the numerous other places where the seams are splitting. But then she looks to her father's hat on the bed beside her, with its torn patches and stains; she still hasn’t put it back on, scared to add another blood stain from where her injured scalp still felt raw. It seems hypocritical to judge the state of his clothing while her own favourite item is barely holding together. The idea of botching the repairs is just as frightening to her as the idea of the material falling apart – it could be the same for Louis.

 _Or maybe he doesn’t know how to sew_... Which, if he doesn't, she'd have to correct that problem later. Knowing how to sew has saved her life before and there's no way she's ok with him not having that skill under his belt. It’s something to potentially ask him about later when he stops glowering at everything in the room.

She had tried to calm him down after the first few minutes of silence, but his snappish attitude made it clear he didn’t really want to be calm. Which she can sort of understand, in a _‘you either laugh or you cry’_ kind of way. Anger can be louder than sadness or fear, and if it drowned out those things for him now, then that’s just the way he is and the way it has to be.

Normally she would be fine with letting angry people burn themselves out, but she worries about how he’ll respond when the next Delta patrol passes. Experience tells her that he has to work his own way out of this attitude, with maybe a little bit of steering once he decides that’s what he wants. Interrupting someone in the middle of the process just seemed to put them on pause, grinding to a holt while the pressure continued to build up until it inevitably exploded.

And Louis had only recently apologized for the bitterness and frosty shoulders he held after the whole Marlon disaster. For the first few days they had kept things civil in public, but conversations were short and overly formal on her part and occasionally snarky from him. Then he was just sort of quiet, trying to follow the normal routine but without the same enthusiasm he used to bring. He was like a songbird with freshly clipped wings, unable to fly how he used to and losing his voice along with it.

It was a little awkward to be around him, but if she had learned anything about these kids from the short time she has known them, it was that they knew when it was better to let the drama die. While she had said sorry from the first day she and AJ had returned, apologizing took longer for Louis. She can’t blame him for that – no one ever really wants to claim responsibility when something bad happens, or even consider they played any part at all. It can take time to build up the confidence to search for one’s own faults, and more so to then voice them.

Even Mitch had come around eventually – though in that case Clementine may have simply taken the wind out of his sails. Every petty insult he threw her way she either shrugged off or muttered out a quiet _I know_ before carrying on with the school fortifications. The boy was still a boiling pot of anger, but once he set his sights on the bigger enemy his heated words had a new target. They had even been downright friendly at times, it was easier to bond with him once the topic became about how best to bomb and knife the kidnappers in the woods. Chipping past his rough exterior revealed a rather nice, if somewhat explosive, boy – no matter how much he tried to hide all of that behind weapons and scowls.

There wasn’t any verbal apology there; she figures he has... _had_ too much pride to consider apologizing for anything. Which doesn’t bother her as much as knowing that now there will never be the chance for him to prove her wrong.

So she’s fine with letting Louis fume for now, providing he knows when to kill the angry spark – so long as they’re all ok then there will be time for him to change his tune later. And if he doesn’t know how to calm down... well, she’s not entirely sure how to fix that. It’s not like she can pull the same move for Louis as she did for Mitch since his anger isn't really directed at her, and she can't use the authoritative mother voice on him like she does with AJ.

Well, she _could_ but she doubts he’d respond well or let her live it down later. She doesn't need another adopted child, and she definitely doesn't need one Louis' size.

The sound of heavy boots echoes up the hallway and breaks Clementine out of her thoughts, springing off of the bed in a hurry to peer out through the doorway. Louis is quick to follow and grip onto the bars. At least he isn’t pacing anymore but the worry is still clear from the hard stare he shoots downs the hall.

Short of physically restraining him, she’s not sure how to keep him in line. Muscles tense in his arm as he looks ready to wrench the metal bars out of the doorframe. She reaches for the sleeve of his shirt and gives it a light pull to draw his attention back to her. _“_ S _eriously, you need to behave” –_ Clementine mouths the words quietly while giving him a concerned look.

His expression scrunches indignantly, but he gives a miniscule nod before pressing his face right up to the bars. It’s better than nothing; at least she’s given him a reminder. She _really_ hopes he takes the situation seriously.

The footsteps draw closer and now the pair can see the group approaching the cells. The smaller man walks in front, and behind him Clem can see the partially obscured Aasim and Omar walking side-by-side, and finally the bigger man at the rear.

As they get closer she can tell the boys are barefoot and dressed in different clothes to before – and if she’s not mistaken they look _clean_.

Omar’s hair is dark and heavy with dampness, and his usual clothing is replaced with a loose fitting grey t-shirt and baggy khaki shorts that ended just above the knees. She can see the slight purple tinge peeking out from beneath a bandage that circles his thigh; Aasim was right, it doesn’t look great, especially since the bruising has leeched down to the top of his kneecap. If it’s been cleaned properly then it shouldn’t kill him, and hopefully he’ll only need a day or two to put proper weight on it – he probably won't be able to run, but with any luck he will he should be able stand and walk without too much assistance. He’ll still be in for a hell of a time while it heals, even more so if they keep marching him around faster than he can handle.

Aasim is dressed in similar looking shorts but paired with a short-sleeve, red, button-up. While the colours suit him just fine, she can’t help but find it strange to actually see his arms and legs uncovered. Without all the layers he looks too lean, and it doesn’t help that all of the clothes look like they are a few sizes too big. Not to mention the fact that the boys have arm and leg hair. It should have been obvious, especially since Aasim has a beard, of course he'd have body hair. But it has been so long since she's seen people not fully covered – excluding AJ, but he's a little boy so he isn't really in the same category. It's just bizarre for some reason she doesn't fully understand.

But still, strange fashion choices aside, they’re cleaner than she has ever seen them. Why would they bother cleaning them up? Treating Omar’s leg is understandable, but this seems like a weird time to be prettying up a bunch of prisoners. _What the hell is the Delta playing at?_

The front man unlatches the boys’ cell door and ushers them inside. They must have removed Aasim’s restraints at some point and not replaced them – though given the way he has to sling Omar’s arm over his shoulder just to keep him upright, the Delta must not think he’ll attempt to run. The pair hobbles inside while the burly man approaches her and Louis’ cell.

A curious glint passes his eyes but disappears as he tilts his chin up and squares his shoulders to the cell – blocking whatever view they could have of the cell across from them. The nose of his rifle lifts to the bars and Clementine can feel the absence of Louis at her side as he shrinks away from the doorway. “Boy,” the man’s deep voice orders as he motions with his rifle, “to the back corner.”

Clementine watches as Louis’ face can’t seem to decide on an expression, flittering between defiance and resignation. A sigh of relief threatens to slip from Clementine when he follows the order silently, but she suppresses the sound as much as she can. Not only does she think Louis would find it patronizing, but she doesn’t want these people to see the conflicting emotions they stir up amongst the kids.

“And you,” the man motions his gun towards Clementine before lifting the barrel upward slightly, “back wall.”

With slow steps backwards she eventually feels the solid wall against her back, stuck between the radiator and empty cupboards. The sound of the other cell closing and locking is followed shortly by metal sliding against metal as the door in front of her pulls open. The burly man steps back to let the smaller man skirt into the room.

“Arms out.” He slings the strap of his rifle across his back before withdrawing a pair of cable ties from his jacket. His face stays stern as she follows the order; her wrists latched together swiftly before he grips her shoulder and tugs her forward towards the doorway. The force of the motion pulls the muscles in her sides, bringing an involuntary hiss to Clementine’s breath.

“Clem...” Louis’ voice is firm, and she can tell there is probably a full speech rolling through his mind, but none of the words are meant for this mixed audience.

“It’s fine.” Clementine steadies herself and walks up to big man in the doorway. He steps to the side marginally, just enough for her to fit through if she doesn’t mind her shoulder running along his chest on the way passed. Which she does mind, but he clearly doesn’t care since he makes no effort to budge further.

As she passes the man, he drops a massive hand on her shoulder. He applies just enough pressure and firmness to be uncomfortable while he pushes her down the hallway. With his longer strides Clementine is forced into a rather awkward rhythm, devoting a lot of her mental resources to stop herself tripping.

The man guides Clementine through the boat, taking her through the little rec area, then down the right hallway and towards a stairwell before he pauses – presumably waiting for the other man and Louis before leaving the floor. The patter of feet approaches and the burly man begins walking again.

 They descend the stairs and into a room divided up by big machinery before continuing through another room, and finally through a doorway into the front section of the boat. This area is fully enclosed on the outer wall, a tunnel made of metal with a pair of open doorways on the interior wall. The hallway has a slight curvature, the far end capped off with a closed door and a corridor that cuts sharply to the left.

They halt outside of the first doorway, the lingering smell of water and something mildly soapy drifts through the windowless room. The room itself looks like some sort of communal bathroom. A long bench is bolted down in the centre of the space, yet it looks less worn than most of the other surfaces and it may have been installed by the Delta at some point after the outbreak. A tiled counter with a pair of sinks sits against the same wall as the doorway; a large mirror is framed above the sinks, though it isn’t the cleanest and has a spider web of cracks that reflect the room into a smudged and blurry mosaic.

Four stalls take up the entire back wall. Laminated wood partitions divide the stalls from a foot off of the floor up to the height of the shower heads that peak over the two left-most stalls. Clementine might have been excited at the prospect to be clean for the first time in years, if it weren’t for the sight of the woman waiting in the room.

She’s standing by the central bench seat, arms folded against her chest and posturing in a way that emphasised her muscular build. It’s the woman who Clem shot with an arrow as she was dragging Violet away back at the school, the same woman who she heard screaming when she triggered that brick trap on that raider’s head in the admin building. The sharp look she sends Clementine let’s her know the animosity is definitely mutual. As far as she is concerned they’re even – they took Mitch, she took the bearded man – but only she had the excuse of self-defence on her side to justify the body count.

“Ladies first, Sullene?” The burly man asks the raider woman before pushing Clementine further into the room. His grip leaves only to be replaced by the equally forceful hold of the woman, _Sullene_.

“Fine then. Sit down, girl.” Each word has a lick of venom on its edge, and she exerts one quick squeeze on Clem’s shoulder as she motions her towards the bench. _Great_ , Clementine thinks sarcastically... another person who she has to watch out for. Just one more tally mark to a wall of crosshatching.

“You too,” the woman speaks to Louis and his handler as they enter, “on the bench.”

Poor Louis looks troubled to see the woman, but she spits less venom at him. Now Clem wonders who exactly that dead man was to this lady.

Louis sits to Clem’s right side while the bearded man dumps Louis’ jacket and her hat on the counter space. He then brings his rifle off his back and joins the other man by the doorway, both their guns casually aiming to the centre of the room. Lilly definitely gave these people the same training she tried to drill into the motor inn group years ago – but these people have clearly run the routine for years instead of the crash-course she remembers her friends receiving. Always armed, never letting themselves be outnumbered, and clearly they intend to take no shit from their little captives.

The woman stares down on the seated pair. Clementine can feel Louis’ nervously bouncing his legs through the bench, something she really has to repress in herself. There’s just something unnerving about the prolonged silence and heavy looks, like they were some oddity that needed to be poked and prodded with a stick.

She keeps her eyes on the woman as she withdraws even more cable ties from her jacket and kneels off to the far side of Louis. The awkwardness doesn’t seem to bother her nearly as much as she clips one tie around his ankle before locking it around the leg of the bench seat.

“Did you explain what’s happening?” Sullene asks while testing the tether keeping Louis fastened down.

“No.” The curt response comes from the bearded man.

Sullene lets out a tired huff as she stands up. “Of course you didn’t,” she says under her breath before returning to an authoritative pose – standing tall with her hands held behind her back. If Clem hadn't been the one behind the shot, she wouldn't know the woman was injured yesterday with how resolutely she postures. “We have hygiene standards in the Delta, even for our new initiates. Your clothes need washing, _you_ need washing, and _we_ need to see what state you’re in.” The wobbling in the bench abruptly stops and the loss just makes Clem more nervous. “Any questions?” Sullene adds after a beat of silence.

“Uhh,” Louis starts, “how... how much do you need to see to know what state we’re in?” His voice is uneven, bordering on breaking in parts.

Clementine refuses to look in his direction, she can feel the embarrassment burning her cheeks at the question – but she wants an answer too. “And is the _viewing gallery_ going to stand there the whole time?”

“Relax, once we know you’re clean you can go behind the stalls. Besides, small fry like you aren’t Michael’s or Armando’s type.”

A stifled snort laugh bursts out of the bigger man, while beardy elbows him in the side in annoyance. “Shut up, Mike,” he harshly whispers while trying to remain professionally stoic.

The brief moment of levity dies quickly as Sullene locks eyes with Clementine. “Ladies first,” she says quietly before stepping in front of her. “If I take these ties off I expect you to follow orders. Any sign of misbehaving and they go back on, and the scissors come out for your clothes.”

“Fine...” she breathes the words out. The idea of being clean suddenly feels a lot dirtier.

If they were _willingly_ being admitted to a new group then she would be fine with the examination; just one more sign that maybe the people cared enough to check for bites, injuries, hidden weapons, or maybe even disease. It’s the smart thing to do, but in this situation it is hard to see the benefit through the imposition. Though, in truth, if she had a hidden weapon on her she would have put it into use ages ago, so they might be a little late in that regard.

“Good.”  Clem’s eyes follow Sullene’s hands as she pulls a small rectangular thing from out of her pocket. It’s not the same release that Lilly used, and this one looks like it might have been whittled from a piece of scrap wood. Sullene forces the releaser into the lock portion of the tie and pulls the cord back through the lock until it’s completely removed.

Clementine continues to sit still on the bench, caught in a bizarre daze that troubles her. Her emotions don’t like the situation at all; it feels wrong and exposing in the most literal sense. But survival comes first, and she knows that means cooperating right now. The internal conflict keeps her stuck in place.

Where should she even look – certainly not at her captors, and she really doesn’t want to look at Louis right now either. She resolves to just keep her head down and eyes on her own hands. If someone is watching her she _really_ doesn’t want to know.

“Take your boots off first.”

Clementine gives a light nod and a nearly silent _ok_ before leaning forward to undo the cuff belts and unzipping the side of each boot.

“Uh, Clem. Maybe I, uh... should I go first?”

“I’m not letting you both loose kid,” Sullene cuts off the question before Clementine can respond.

“No, I’m saying that-”

“Louis,” Clem pauses as she manages to opens up the sides of her boots, “I know you mean well, but I’m _really_ trying to pretend you’re not here right now.”

“Yeah, me too.” Louis adds, his voice still not quite level.

Clem toes the boots off, exposing the tattered edges of her cargo pants and holey socks. Next she pulls off her socks and lets them fall to the floor. They weren’t even a pair, different sizes that both sported mirrored holes in the heels and toes. She thinks one of them was meant to have stripes on it, but the colours had all faded into an indiscernible grey-brown.

“Seriously, Clem... you know we had spare socks at the school, right? Like, enough socks to stuff a really disgusting smelling mattress.”

“You’re not helping with the _pretending you don’t exist_ thing.”

He chuckles lightly; Clementine doesn’t miss the nervous nature of the sound. Bless him for trying, at least.

“The jacket,” Sullene interjects like she’s working down a checklist.

She removes the jacket, feeling a light chill without it – from both the temperature and the fact that she has grown used to the layers. That was one of Jane’s rules, thick clothes and as many layers as you can wear without losing mobility. It has saved her skin before, brambles and wire fences might shred one layer but never got all the way through. Walker protection too, since leather and denims are supposed to be too thick for them to bite through; not that she ever wants to test that directly, but it made her hesitate less about kicking them in the face when she didn't have a weapon. And the extra padding was always welcome when she found herself stuck with nowhere to sleep.

The thick denim catches on her fingers as she holds it out for Sullene. A large section on the back of the neck has been freshly stained from the previously bleeding wound on her scalp. Even with the dirty marks, it’s a damn fine jacket. It took her ages to find something suitable in her size; she definitely wants it back.

“Keep going,” Sullene urges.

 _Pretend they’re not there_ , she repeats in her head. Unzipping her hoodie is fine but she has to psyche herself up to remove the sleeves. Beneath the hoodie she wears a sleeveless undershirt. Well, it used to have sleeves but she ended up using the material to make cloth strips – it was the best solution she could come up with to hold AJ’s shoes together when the soles tore away from the toes. Losing part of the shirt was a better alternative than having the little guy walk tripping over himself or walking around barefoot until they could find him some new shoes.

So her undershirt deteriorated into a threadbare cotton thing that she puts on a similar level to underwear, since it isn’t really fit for wearing in public – she still wore a sports top as underwear beneath it, but that too was years old. It has just been an absolute nightmare finding anything better that is not too stained to clean and fits her appropriately.

The only time she has worn the undershirt alone was the few days earlier in the year when the weather turned sweltering. Parking the car by a bridge and spending the heatwave in the shadowy creek beneath the road – one of the few moments where she threw defence to the sidelines in favour of comfort. Her and AJ stripping to their underclothes and soaking up what relief they could from the shallow water, their weapons beside them until the sun started to set and they returned to the humid mess that was the car. But that was just them, two kids trying to beat the heat without an audience to judge them.

Still, it isn’t the embarrassment that gives her pause. A deep sense of regret gnawed at Clementine’s stomach whenever she stared too long at her left arm, and she knows what to expect... these people don’t know the story, and without the context they’ll run off with whatever theory they find most convenient. _Breathe_. She pulls off the right sleeve first, but as soon as her upper arm is revealed on the left Sullene is stepping into her personal space. In one rough pull the hoodie is off and thrown to the floor.

“What the fuck is that?” The venom is back in her voice and her hand latches onto Clem’s wrist to examine the length of her arm. Her other hand pulls at the skin around the branded scar on her arm, like she’s checking if the mark is simply drawn on. Rough fingers pull and prod from the brand down to the jagged scar that spanned from her elbow to wrist.

“Armando, get Lilly down here.”

“Right!” The bearded man shoots out the doorway, his quick footfalls echoing through the hallway as he leaves.

“Answer me, girl... What is this?” Sullene pulls tighter on her wrist as Clementine’s brain tries to formulate a response. Ignoring the woman is impossible as she tugs her arm and looms menacingly close to her face.

Clem’s eyes dart beside her and she can see Louis quickly avert his gaze.

 _Shit_... this isn’t how she wants to share stories. She gets not keeping secrets, but airing out dirty laundry is enough of a chore without someone else dumping the entire laundry basket at your feet. And poor Clementine has accumulated enough dirty laundry to bury her to her waist, it has always just been easier to brush it all aside than try to sort through it.

 “They’re scars,” she says resolutely, trying desperately to close the conversation there.

“Bullshit,” Sullene squeezes her wrist like a vice. “This is a deliberate mark,” her other hand prods at the brand. “Talk and maybe things will go easier for you... Or we can make things difficult by digging out the tools.” Sullene punctuates that thought by twisting Clementine’s arm, causing the girl to stand from the bench to stop the pain.

The bench creaks as Louis jumps up, his right leg pulling against the tether as he stands.

“Back down!” The burly man, Michael, booms from the door. His rifle is pointed at Louis’ head, and the tension in the room pulls taught.

“Fuck the both of you,” Louis says sternly, just short of yelling but clearly pissed. Standing adamantly in the face of the gun's sights, he gestures harshly at the pair with his bound hands. “Let her go,” he orders in as steady of a voice as he can muster. It’s eerily similar to the broken and angry tone that completely encompassed him for the first few days after Marlon’s death.

Michael steps further into the room, raising his rifle to his face. “Don’t make me say it again, boy. Sit your ass down before I make you!”

“Louis!" Clem leaves no room for argument, and his harsh motions stop. "It’s a brand, ok!” She rushes the words out, hoping it might deescalate the skyrocketing situation. “From a group, but I’m not with them anymore,” her right hand tries to pry the woman’s finger off of her arm, but she doesn’t loosen her grip. If anything she pulls tighter and lifts her arm higher. Standing on her toes is the only thing that stops the pain, but Sullene is taller and continues to lift her arm, keeping Clem stuck at the edge of discomfort.

“What group? Where are they?”

“The New Frontier, somewhere in Virginia maybe.”

The pulling on her arm lets up and Clementine breathes a sigh of relief as she slumps back on the bench. Rubbing her wrist only mildly alleviates the burning sensation in the joint.

Louis’ weight thuds down onto the bench beside her, his shoulder brushing hers lightly as he shifts marginally closer. It can’t be comfortable for him to pull his leg so roughly against the tether, but he does so anyway. The room becomes eerily quiet, so quiet that she can hear every sharp and heavy breath the boy beside her takes. Clem can feel the fuming energy radiating out of him like a physical wave.

Thudding footfalls approach from the hall; she doesn’t bother looking up. Lilly’s boots appear in her peripheral vision a second before she too grabs for Clementine’s forearm.

Her touch is gentle in comparison to Sullene, and that just royally fucks with Clem’s head. It’s so much easier to direct her anger at the woman when everything about her is brutally rough. Lilly should _not_ be the reprieve in this situation; offering pain in one touch and comfort in another. She just... _she's not allowed to do that._ _It's not fair._

“New Frontier,” Lilly recognizes the brand without prompting. Because of course she knows it – they put their mark in all the places they wandered and made a bad reputation to go with it. It just makes sense to Clementine that raiding communities probably crossed paths more often than normal since they constantly scouted for any groups in the area. “When?”

 “Years ago, I don’t know where they are now.” Fuck the Delta if they think she’s going to sell out the few people who she cares about that might still be out there.

Lilly lets out an acknowledging grunt. Whether that means she believes Clem or not is uncertain. Her slender fingers move to tap the jagged scar. “And this one?” The question seems to be directed at the room in general, like she expects Sullene to respond though Clem knows she doesn’t know the answer.

Clementine thinks she gets it now – the answers don’t matter at all, the fact that she’s _answering_ is what they want. So she’ll answer them, she’ll do what she can to get them out. It’s all about getting out...

“Dog bite,” her voice feels disconnected now. Words forming and spilling out of her while she tries to determine who in this situation is actually winning.

An uncomfortable chill rushes through her as Lilly reaches for the collar of her undershirt. She grips the fabric and slips it over Clementine’s head. She hates how she lets Lilly do it, lifting her arms like an obedient toddler. Now she sits on the bench in her grey-purple sports top, the old thing that had lost its elasticity and was the closest thing she has ever had to a bra. Lilly taps her finger against the now exposed scar that sits by her left shoulder, just below the collar bone.

“Rifle bullet,” Clem answers before anyone bothers to ask. The scar itself is pretty self-explanatory anyway, round and puckered on the front and back of her shoulder.

“Anything else?” Lilly asks as she withdraws her touch.

Clementine shrugs her shoulders. Cuts, scrapes, and bug bites; little things that left marks occasionally if the wounds got dirty or kept reopening. None of those things had stories, and sitting on that bench for longer to explain that isn’t the most appealing idea.

“Has she been cooperative?” Lilly asks the other Delta members in the room.

“For the most part.” _Yeah, fuck you too, Sullene._

Lily hums lightly and walks out of Clementine’s view. “Can we expect any surprises from you?”

“No- No ma’am,” Louis stutters out. The fiery edge is gone now, and the absence seems to drain him to something less than himself. She isn’t sure if that’s the effect of Lilly or if his courage in this situation is just working in fits and bursts.

“Carry on then.” Clem sneaks a glance at the room to watch as Lilly leaves – curiously, she doesn’t hear her boots fade into the distance, the noise simply stopping shortly outside of the doorway. Her mind is all over the place now. She doesn’t understand why she feels more unsettled with the idea that Lilly _isn’t_ in the room. Then her eyes focus on Sullene and she realises she simply doesn’t want to be with this woman any longer than she has to be.

“You heard her, girl.” Sullene steps back in front of her; her presence feeling heavier than before. The woman taps the toe of her boot against Clem’s shin. “Are you wearing anything under the pants?”

“Yes,” the response is probably said with more urgency than necessary; and judging by the jolt that runs through her shoulder, Louis isn’t comfortable with the question either.

“Pants off, then you can use the shower.”

She sighs heavily as she stands, taking an extra step to her left to get a little bit of space from Louis. None of her is comfortable with this but she tries to focus on the prospect of a shower as she removes her pants. Honestly she’s just surprised the plumbing and electrical systems still worked on the boat – it’s a luxury she didn’t think she’d ever get to experience again. Even if the lights in the cells are missing bulbs, the overhead lighting in the halls and the bathroom keep the darkness that crept into most buildings at bay.

If it were any other circumstances, then maybe she would actually like the boat. Instead she knows she won’t be able to disconnect the pleasant bits from the memory of kicking her pants onto the floor in a room full of strangers.

 Sullene looks her over, her hand grabbing Clem’s shoulder to turn her around before directing Clem to the left-most stall. “Throw your clothes out and I’ll deal with them. I’ll bring you something to change into once I deal with your friend. And don't be expecting any hot water, we're not lighting the boiler up for this.”

Of course they won't, they can't have any of them getting too comfortable.

 _'Ladies first' my ass_ , Clem thinks bitterly as she steps over the small lip on the floor and into the stall, pulling the stall door shut behind her. That line is supposed to be a courtesy, not a humiliation tactic. With the slight privacy of the door, that she notices doesn’t have a lock and only stays shut by the stiffness of its hinges, the indignation catches up with her. She runs her hands down her face, trying to banish the negative emotions circling in her head.

None of this should matter, _none of this matters_. She’s gotten changed around others before, and bathing in close proximity to other people has been the norm for a while now. Proper privacy hasn't existed for a long time, and even when it did it was temporary. Telling herself it doesn’t matter in the long run doesn’t stop the sense of wrongness she’s feeling now.

A heavy sigh escapes her as she drops her hands from her face. _I damn well deserve a shower for this_. There’s a small ledge on the partition with a folded towel and a lumpy cake of soap – probably handmade from the look of it. It’s not much, but it’s far more than she’s seen for years. She finishes undressing and lets the clothes fall to the floor over the door.

High pitched rattling echoes out of the pipes for a few seconds after she turns the tap. Icy water eventually starts pouring out of the shower head; cold enough that it feels like it’s burning her skin. Pushing through the painful moment of adjusting to the temperature, she finds herself taking comfort in another of the old things that she thought would remain as a dead-end memory. As a child she loved baths, but she found it was showers that she ended up missing more. For years it has been nothing but hand-filled baths, wet cloths, or traipsing around in the rain – none of which ever felt the same.

Over the water she can hear Sullene’s voice directing Louis. His instructions seem to be going far smoother than hers. Clementine glances through the gap between the door and partition to see Louis pulling the back of his shirt over his head. A flash of skin is all she sees before she corrects herself. _Aaand that’s enough of that._

She puts her head under the stream, feeling how the cold water warms as it drips through her hair and down to her neck. It smells like river water with the faintest bit of iron lingering through the pipes. Flecks of old blood and dirt circle her feet and spiral down the drain, her eyes following the clean lines that split the dirty patches on her skin. It’s only when she spots the bruise along her waist that her body seems to remember all the damage she has taken in the past 24 hours and how much it all still hurt.

 _Fuck Abel,_ she thinks with no limit to her scorn. The thick purple band across her waist is from that man shoving her into the headmaster’s desk; it hurt then and from the look of the bruise it’s going to continue to be touchy for a while. Her arms sport several discoloured patches in varying colours – though in truth she’s had a lot of people grabbing at her arms recently, so Abel might not be entirely to blame for those. _Fuck Sullene too._

Her skin starts to turn numb before she breaks out of the stupor. She lets her hair down and scrubs herself with the soap until she feels like a year’s worth of grit washes away. Maybe the memory of the past half hour will wash away too.


	6. Chapter 6

Things became considerably more awkward when Clementine and Louis returned to their cell. For starters Louis seemed resolute in avoiding her eye contact, his gaze always darting away whenever Clem happened to glance over at him – which was admittedly quite frequent since she could see him staring at her whenever she peered over her shoulder during the walk back to the cell. Which was made even more infuriating by the big lug trudging along at the back of the group, his deep voice holding back chuckles every time the pair of kids simultaneously turned their heads to sneak a look at the other. Even Aasim was peering out of his cell as they approached, the same worry and curiosity she and Louis had when the situation was reversed.

Aasim’s frantic voice calling across the hall to figure out what the hell had happened as they were shoved back into their cell. He had witnessed the frantic running of the bearded man, Armando, as he bolted through the ship to alert Lilly. Of course Aasim was concerned, seeing the pair rushing from the top deck to the bottom far too fast for it to be nothing.

 _‘Not now,’_ was Louis' quick reply, _'give us a minute'_. Aasim got the hint and dropped the questioning, which Clementine was at least mildly grateful for. She didn't want to look at Aasim any more than she wanted to look at Louis at that moment, the whole situation had thoroughly messed with her head. She wanted a bubble to surround her, to mute all the sounds and reflect the world into a rainbow of colours that looked nothing like a cell, or a bathroom, or a boat.

 _‘You know none of us care about scars, right?’_ Louis had said the words as soon as the Delta men left the kids alone, but Clementine just sat down on the cot and didn’t respond.

It didn’t matter how sincerely he meant those words, it doesn’t change the fact that she cares about them. Aesthetically they are all hideous looking things, but she can live with that. Nothing stayed pretty in this world. Flowers died, paint peeled, and anything beautiful was passed over in favour of something more practical. Like always, it’s the memories that haunt her more.

If her life were a book each scar would be the dog-eared pages. The parts singled out for being times when she was at her lowest possible point. When she had lost the last friendly face and still had further to fall. That dog would have killed her if someone didn't find her in the woods, she was just too wounded and downtrodden to fight anymore. Then she had the bullet wound to remind her of all the people who she lost after that, a full stop to the lives of all the cabin survivors. And that brand... from a time when she might as well have been cattle to those people. Another member to bolster their numbers, one more face in an amorphous herd.

She hates how flipping through the old and folded pages of her life meant she would inevitably revisit these moments the most. It's the same way it's always been, falling from the bookshelves in her mind and dropping open like it wants her to break down.

She wants to tug her sleeves back down over her arm, to close the book and leave the memories unseen for another day. Unfortunately, she has to settle for covering her forearm with her hand. It doesn't stop her from seeing through the gaps between her fingers.

Sullene had given her a dark brown vest with an array of mismatched buttons on the front, and a pair of pale blue drawstring shorts to wear – offering her no comfort against the encroaching cold weather or the ability to cover up and try to forget the exposing moment.

 _Fuckin’ Delta and their fucked up mind games._ And she can feel herself falling into the traps – now she doesn’t want to even look in Louis’ general direction, much less talk to him and try to figure a way out of this mess. It’s like she feels the need to explain to him why she just doesn’t want to talk right now while she simultaneously finds her throat unable to make the words form into anything close to speech.

They made things... _weird_.

Even when Louis sits beside her on the cot she can’t find the words. They had picked an equally unfitting outfit for him, an oversized blue and white, striped t-shirt, and a pair of yellow running shorts – he looked ridiculous, but she wouldn't say it aloud. After all, neither of them had much say in the matter and she feels ridiculous too. She hasn’t worn shorts or anything sleeveless since she was little, back when dresses and frilly skirts didn’t trigger a safety alarm in her head. Louis may look like he’s dressed up as a character from a children’s cartoon, but she’s dressed like the preschooler watching the show.

His exposed knee taps against hers – the bony, skin-on-skin contact feeling mildly unnerving to her scattered mind. “You ok? Can I... do anything?” He tries for the second time to break her out of her funk.

 _Yes... no_. _All of the above?_

It doesn’t matter, something strangles the answers in her throat, leaving her to sigh and draw her legs up to her chest. She rests her forehead against her knees, hugging her legs for both the warmth and the slight comfort the defensive position gives her.

A soft touch startles her. Louis’ fingers barely graze her arm and her whole body jolts away involuntarily. A hurt frown pulls at his face and she instantly regrets the action as he withdraws his hand to his lap.

“I’m sorry,” she manages to squeak out in a rush; the knee-jerk response breaking through her confused silence.

The apology seems to glide right passed him, his attention focused on his rebuffed hand before raising his eyes to the ceiling. “Did you know Marlon and I shared a room?”

The question catches Clementine off guard. She silently shakes her head. It doesn't surprise her, but she knows this is touchy ground for Louis to talk about.

Louis looks over briefly to see her giving him a solemn look. “Even when we didn’t have to share anymore, we still did. I mean, some nights he just stayed in the headmaster’s office, but if he wasn’t there, he was with me. He could have had his pick of any room, or I could have moved into my own – hell, I could probably have moved a mattress into the common room and no one would have cared.

“But Marlon liked to talk at night, said it helped.”  A faraway look takes over Louis' face, his eyes focussing on the portholes on the wall and further still. “Not once did we talk about anything serious, just useless shit.  _‘Lou, you won’t believe what Mitch found in the basement.’ ‘I swear, Louis, it was such a perfect shot I pegged the fucker through the eye and he’s still stuck to the tree.’_

“Like, even when he was pissed about how angry Brody was, he still stopped by to chat...Do you know what we talked about... on the night he died?”

Even in his profile Clem can see the glimmer in his eyes. “We don’t have to talk about this if it’s going to upset you.” She forces the words out of her straining throat – her concern being strong enough to break the stopper. There's something very unsettling about the way he's talking, almost like he's trying to explain himself for some wrongdoing that her gut says he hasn't done. Or at least, that he never meant to do.

“I know I don’t have to... But I wouldn’t bring it up if it wasn’t important.”

“What’d you talk about?”

He finally looks over to Clementine, his eyes lingering on her arm for a moment before returning to her eyes. “He said _‘Clementine’s scared of dogs’_. And it was just so strange, like, I saw you dealing with all those walkers at the train station. Itty bitty you, but then you with a knife – damn. But he just kept telling me, _‘no, seriously, she’s shit scared of Rosie.’_ And I just couldn’t picture it. I figured you’d go all badass and wreck anything that scared you... but I didn’t really think about stuff that might have happened before.”

Clementine stays quiet. In truth she’s a little perturbed that the boys made her the target of their gossip. The feeling is fleeting though as Louis’ calloused fingers tentatively reach for her arm. Slow and gentle, his movements giving her ample opportunity to flinch away again if she doesn’t want the contact. She doesn’t resist and he pulls her arm away from her grip on her legs, bringing it out in front of him. Fingers dance over her scar, faint touches ghosting over the uneven surface like a breeze through sand dunes.

“Bad stuff happened to all of us before. But we have this rule at the school – what we did...” his fingers stutter in their dance for a moment. “Whatever happened to us before doesn’t have to have anything to do with who we are now. I mean, the marks are always there, but it’s how we behave now that matters. It's always about the now.” He taps a finger against the brand on her arm. “I don’t know shit about these people, but I know you... I might not know everything, but I know enough to like what I know.”

Clementine’s heart flutters at his touch and his words. Pleasant warmth blooming in her chest and the room doesn’t feel quite so cold anymore. She leans into his side, letting her head rest against his shoulder.

Louis laughs lightly as Clementine takes his right hand between both of hers, her thumbs tracing the calloused fingertips that had been brushing over her skin. “And Vi says I’m not charming,” he quietly jokes.

“If you talk enough some of your words are bound to be charming eventually.”

“What can I say; I know what my strong points are. And unless there’s a piano hiding in here, talking’s all I got.”

“You can sing too,” she reminds him.

“Eh, I try.” The response is weirdly subdued for the usual enthusiasm Louis practically sparkles with.

“What’s that? Have I found the one thing you don’t have a big head about?" She taps her index finger against Louis' cheek. "I like your singing.”

A warm smile lights up his expression. “Well who am I to disagree with such a well-informed lady.”

Clementine lets out a single laugh before bringing her focus back to Louis’ hand. Curiosity draws her to measures his hand against her own. His whole hand is still visible beneath hers, to the point where he could probably curl the last segment of his fingers over hers. It's like those tracing drawings she used to do at school, where the picture always ended up looking like oversized gloves no matter how many times she tried to fix it. Not that it's a bad thing; it's just odd being the smaller one after so long with AJ as her only comparison point. Louis sits patiently as her thumbs trace the lines on his palm.

This time the silence that envelops the room feels almost comforting. Like the rest of the world has simply fallen away into nothingness to leave only them, a floating moment in the vacuum of space. No boat. No cell. Just two people sharing the brief quiet in the middle of a dreadful situation.

Everything is both too still while she is hyperaware of all the little movements around her. The gentle rock of the boat, something she has grown desensitized to but has suddenly turned into a soothing balm. She can feel Louis’ shoulder move with his breathing, slow and even – a rhythm that she finds herself matching. It would be a perfect scene if not for the nagging in her brain that won’t let her forget the lingering threads. The knot in her head that rolls around and seriously needs to be untangled before it snowballs into a deeper pit in her mind– better to do it now while it’s easier to reach.

She takes a deep breath to steel her nerves before she speaks, her fingers going still against his palm. “Do you want to know about them? The New Frontier,” she clarifies.

Louis moves his hand and for a moment Clementine thinks she might have been bothering him, but instead he manoeuvres their hands so he can hold her left hand between both of his.  “If you want to tell me,” he says while reciprocating the playful exploration she had been doing before. His thumbs pressing into either side of her palm, just below her knuckles, before swiping towards the centre.

“Just do me a favour and don’t judge me until I finish...”

 _Where to start_ , the whole New Frontier thing is a minefield for her to talk through. It all stemmed from a mistake, and there is no way of explaining the situation without highlighting her own inabilities and bad decisions.

“When I met them they were just a group of people who wandered from place to place, getting by through scavenging and moving on once there was nothing left. I guess we ended up in the same place at the same time... I don’t know whether I’d call it good luck or bad luck.” She adjusts herself on the cot, bringing both her legs to her right side and leaning more comfortably against Louis' shoulder.

“It's was like..." she struggles to think of how to explain how bad of a place she was in at the time – anything to make the shit-poor decisions seem less... well, shit.”How long is the longest you’ve gone without eating?”

“I dunno... early on there was a week where we ate every other day. That was before we had the traps set up and we were eating through what was left in the school – seriously, on some days it was a good thing. I don’t know who at the school stocked the staffroom with fruit cups and noodles but I bet they knew better than to make fruity noodles, unlike Jasper.”

“Right...”

“Uh, sorry,” he apologizes for the tangent. “I guess somewhere between two and three days, depending on who was cooking.”

“Well, at the time I was only getting one proper meal every few days. AJ wasn’t even two years old and was strapped to me 24/7. And he’d cry when he was hungry, or scared, or tired... and it’s next to impossible to hunt with a baby.” The old memory of hunger and desperation claws its way to the forefront, her hand curling around Louis’ fingers briefly. “So when I did manage to get something, he ate first. I kept him as happy as I could, always thinking that the next spot will have enough for both of us. But everything was cleared out, and you can only wait so long before it slows you down.

“Then this lady appears one day, takes one look at me and AJ and tells us that if we went back with her to her group they’d give us food. And I told her no. Open invitations like that scare me, and I didn’t like the way she looked at me and AJ.”

“Well I imagine seeing a kid with a baby isn’t really that normal. It sure as hell confused us when Marlon and Aasim brought you guys back to the school.”

 _Huh,_ she didn't know it was those two who found the car. She just remembers the arrows and the brief glimpse of AJ disappearing out the car window.

"Not in a bad way, though," Louis continues since Clementine had gone silent. "I mean, we didn't think anything bad, we just hadn't expected any kids to be wondering around out there."

 “Sure, but there was more to it than that. I mean, you guys didn’t assume he was my son, but she seemed to think, _yeah this little girl has a toddler, totally normal_.”

“AJ calling you ‘Clem’ was a pretty good clue. I don’t know too many little kids who call their mum by their first name.”

“Smart boy, Louis,” Clementine jokes sarcastically.

“Smart _man_ , thank you.” Louis corrects her while nudging her side with his elbow. "Just don't ask any of us what we thought before AJ woke up."

“The point is it was weird to me that her first thought was that I must have had a baby, and for some reason it didn’t bother her in the least. Maybe she was just trying to be polite, but I figured if it was a normal thing in their group for little girls to be walking around with babies then it probably wasn’t the best place to be... but then AJ started crying all day and I couldn’t figure out why. I couldn’t catch anything. I couldn’t leave him alone... There just wasn’t anything else for me to do.

“So I met up with their group. I thought maybe we could have a meal, a decent night’s sleep, and then we could get out of there if things went south. But they had this rule – you can have food, protection, medicine, whatever you need within reason; and all you had to do was let them brand you. To prove your devotion to the group. I didn’t last more than two weeks before they kicked me out.”

“They kicked _you_ out? _You_?” Louis asks incredulously. "I take it they were all idiots? I mean, bigger idiots than we were when we did that," he adds in a rush, “because we were sorry about it after. Still sorry about it too.”

“They were more like monsters," she mutters out quietly, Louis' hands stuttering for a moment as she speaks. "I stole medicine for AJ,” admitting that is easier now than it was back then, especially knowing it had helped him. “He was hurting, and none of my tricks worked to keep him calm. Their doctor, that awful man, said giving him anything would be a waste.” It takes considerable self control to not squeeze the life out of Louis’ fingers. “I didn’t get that far to lose him over something as stupid as an addict doctor’s advice. So I stole the medicine and got caught. Then they stole AJ...”

“But you got him back,” before Clem can lose herself in the dark pit of bad memories he tries to spin the story to its happy conclusion. Unfortunately he has no way of knowing the story isn’t so simple.

“For months I thought he was dead... and in that time I did a lot of things I regret. And the whole time I was planning how I’d get back at the man responsible for stealing him. I wanted to tear his heart out like he did to mine...” She realises how morbid of a thought that is and has to stop herself from sharing the more _colourful_ plans she made at the time. “You won’t believe how happy I was when I learnt he was alive. It still took me quite a while to find him, but it was like I could finally breathe again. Like something that was squeezing my chest decided it was time to let go.”

“I think I can imagine. And the guy who took him?”

“He got what he deserved in the end.” Sad but true; the rest of his family deserved something better. “I didn’t have to do anything, but he went out trying to take someone else with him. I think all the shit he pulled finally caught up to him, like the world knew and put a walker target on his back.”

Louis runs the pad of his thumb across the palm of Clem’s hand, contemplating something or simply lost in the sensation. “Sooo,” he draws out the word as he looks down at her, the close distance suddenly much more apparent now that she’s looking up at him from where her head rests against his shoulder. “The way I figure, this thing,” he motions to Clementine’s arm with his chin, “is more a mark of how far you’ll go for people you care about. That’s not such a bad thing to be reminded about, right? I mean, I can think of worse things to remember.”

“I guess. But I think the tattoo is a better reminder.”

“If you want to ruin my moment, sure.” He speaks the words good naturedly and shrugs, a lopsided smile gracing his face. “Not like I was thinking of that line for a while or anything.”

An airy laugh escapes her, Clementine can’t help it. There’s just something about Louis that makes these things ok. Maybe all that dirty laundry isn’t as awful as she thought... or maybe Louis is just a good launderer who doesn’t care about how the stains got there. She leans over and presses a kiss to the curve of his jaw. It’s a quick and feather-light touch, but it feels like a lit fireplace in a blinding winter. 

And the way his whole being seems to brighten sparks a wonderful feeling in her chest. To know such a small gesture can affect him so fully is beyond gratifying.

Even their first kiss was magnetism, pulling her towards him while her brain told her it might all go wrong. Because there are so few examples she can recall where things just worked without some sort of awful repercussion.

What little she knew about relationships was all gathered from observations or the one evening where Kate tried to give her years worth of advice in every minute. It was mortifying, confusing, and frankly she had very few reference points to link back to. The one thing Kate kept saying was to take things slow, and to not let anyone tell her what she _should_ be doing... which made her question the whole conversation up to that point.

How slow is _slow_? Because being too slow was only ever a bad thing in her experience. Everything had to be fast, and if it wasn’t fast enough it died.

And interspersed with that advice was Kate trying to subtly talk Clementine over to Gabe’s side – and they had only known each other for about a week. Though presumably she had given Gabe a similar talk at some point and he seemed just as lost about everything as she was; so perhaps Kate’s advice had that effect on everyone. The poor boy was all flustered and timid whenever they spoke, and even worse when she told him she was leaving. Their relationship never progressed further than a firm hug as Clementine left to find AJ. That didn’t feel too fast or too slow, it just felt like goodbye.

She wasn’t going to ask him to come with her, and they all knew better than to tell her not to leave. If there was anything more there, she’ll never know.

Would they have been like the others if she had stayed? Would they even be around at all? Having a partner seemed like a bad omen to the people she had met – like they had given up a part of themselves to the other, so if one died the living one withered into something smaller than they were before. A gentle breeze could blow them away, scattering whatever was left of them into dust.

She didn’t feel ready for any of that when she was still in Richmond. It was all too hard for her to comprehend all the possibilities at that point.

But then something about Louis made things feel easy. They had moved around each other without the jittering nerves. He could somehow just ask, and say, and do; and to hell with awkwardness. Louis had been the one to start it, at least that’s what Clementine thinks. With all of his complimentary words and little games to draw her in, she couldn’t stop herself from being intrigued. Perhaps not initially in a romantic way, though she won't deny that the more she knew him the more she found herself wanting his company.

When she needed him, he was there – even when it meant standing between her and his best friend. And she hurt for him when he was sad, and she got it when he was angry. In the midst of that anger only small bits of him managed to peek through. He still cared, even if he couldn’t bring himself to say it – to betray the memory of Marlon by pretending his absence was something that could be easily _gotten over_. He didn’t have to look out for AJ, and he didn’t have to forgive either of them for making the world a slightly lonelier place for him.

For a week she thought whatever tentative ground they had been standing on was going to stay in that semi-broken state forever, but he came out the other side and they found themselves back on the same path. Back to the silly jokes and questions that trapped her in his little _‘like-like’ game_.

Louis can make her laugh and smile over the little things... she doesn’t get to do that so much anymore. So it was hard not to reciprocate when the opportunity presented itself. Sitting at the piano and throwing shyness to the sidelines while tossing her feelings at him like emotional confetti. Even if they were only the new born buds of something that may not survive through the season, she still wanted him to see them then in case the whole thing got trampled into the dirt.

Maybe it was the looming dread of the Delta, or the reminder of how few people they both had left. It didn’t feel like battling the magnetism was the right call then; so she didn’t.

Even now it seems like her very being is pulling towards him, the warmth and comfort radiating from his side and into her. Louis’ giddy face looks down at her, bright eyes and teeth flashing in an open grin. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?” He asks, still smiling brightly at the girl leaning against him; though Clementine raises an eyebrow quizzically at the question.

“Forgiven for what?”

“I thought you were mad at me,” he says bluntly while his expression shifts to something more apologetic, “for yelling at the guys. I screwed up, _again_. You’re like the leader in this situation, Clem. None of us have dealt with shit like this and I still lost my head when you told me not to.”

“Louis, first of all, don’t call me that. There’s no _leading_ in this situation, just surviving.”

“You’re the boss,” he responds dryly.  

“Oh, haha,” she mock laughs before returning to the topic at hand. “And second, I wasn’t mad at you. We’re all on edge here, so just make sure you pull me back up when I stumble and I’ll do the same for you. Deal?”

“Deal,” he whispers as he shifts his right arm out to pull her closer to his side, his hand finding a place on her waist. Compared to Clementine's first attempts at physical affection it is far less bold and more timid, his arm locked in a position that's a little too stiff to be natural. The boy was apparently all-talk in his previous attempts at flirting, like a dog chasing a car with no idea what to do if it actually managed to catch it.

Still, it feels comforting to have him return the sentiment, even in a tentative way. She finds it remarkable that something so simple can bring her so much soothing comfort. Clementine might not know how to get them free from the boat, but for the first time she’s starting to think that they might just be strong enough to come out the other side – wherever that may be.

 

\-----

 

The days seem so much longer when you can’t do anything. Even worse when lunch rolls around and the kids have to listen while the Delta shuffle bowls and cutlery around the rec area. Hunger may be something she’s used to, but that was usually because there was no food to be had. Having the smell waft tauntingly under her nose is a whole different thing. They have only missed two meals prior to this one, yet it somehow feels like more when it's so close but being actively denied.

Clementine sits by the door to the cell, her back pressing against the wall while she listens to the banal chatter of the people eating lunch in the hope that maybe she can learn something. Anything at all that could make escaping feel less like an impossible task. It seems unlikely that they’d openly discuss their schedules or plans for the prisoners, but she'll take the smallest bit of help at this point.

And for all her effort, all she ends up learning is that she's hungry and they aren’t. Then as the group finishes eating and leaves, the whole thing repeats all over again, the second shift coming in to have their fill. Clearly the boat works on a constant rotation – people moving in shifts to keep up their guard at all hours.

The routine picks up again as normal after the second lot finishes their meal, the rec area going quiet as they disperse back to their posts. Patrols are the only thing inside the boat that disturbs the silent hallways. An occasional order or raised voice sometimes sounds from outside, but through all the metal it becomes unintelligibly garbled.

Louis tries to sleep through the tedium, lying on the cot and staring at the ceiling with his hands cushioning his head. The mattress is only barely large enough to stop his feet hanging over the edge. Even though he stays quite still, Clem can see he's still awake, occasionally letting out a heavy sigh or shifting his legs restlessly. She can’t blame him; the safety switch in her head refuses to let her feel secure enough to sleep in the environment. If she’s lucky, then maybe later she’ll be too exhausted to care. Hopefully the quiet time helps Louis in some small way, even if it isn’t through proper rest.

In short, being on the boat is more maddening every hour. She's tired, hungry, bored, and frustrated that she can’t do anything about any of those problems.

Every here and there she knocks her knuckles against the cell door, waiting for a moment before she hears Aasim or Omar mimic the knock back. It isn’t much, but it's reassuring to know they are fine on the other side of the hall. They could chat, but it’s hard to keep pretending that everything’s peachy – so every conversation just dredges up more things to be worried about.

 _“They’re making us vulnerable so we don’t try to leave,”_ Aasim had whispered between patrols. _“They know we don’t want to leave without our stuff, and we’ll freeze if we leave at night and end up in the water.”_

And Clem can’t refute the theory. The middle of the day is already chilly enough to spread goose bumps on her exposed skin – while manageable, it's nothing compared to the night breeze. Adding cold water to the mix only makes the whole idea worse. Though, potential hypothermia might still be a better option than walking into a warzone. _If_ that option ever arises.

They don’t really have any other choice but to fall back to the original plan – try not to piss someone off and die. Until an opportunity presents itself they're stuck simply waiting. And Clementine doesn’t like waiting. Especially when she doesn’t know exactly what it is she’s waiting for.

Are their friends at the school planning a rescue mission? Do they even know where they've been taken? If they don’t... what happens then?

Knowing AJ, he won’t rest until he at least tries to get to her. But Lilly was right about one thing – they did get most of the heavy hitters. They removed Mitch completely, and had taken her along with the older boys. Vi is fierce, there’s no denying that, but she’ll have to rely on Ruby and the younger boys to back her up. They just don’t have the same stopping power when they’re separated.

She tries not to doubt them, but it’s hard for her to put faith in something that feels like another of her fairytale endings.

Her mind spirals with all her thoughts, scouring for a new angle to view the problem. Instead she finds herself staring at the grime encrusted portholes, watching the filtered light change ever so slightly as the day progresses. During the morning the light had been at just the right angle to highlight the little dust particles in the room. As the afternoon rolls in the shadows on the floor disappear before the windows starts to reflect no light at all.

 

\-----

 

“So... how are we doing this?” Clementine breaks the silence.  She and Louis had been standing by the doorway as the Delta ate their dinner and the majority of them uttered good nights to those left on night watch. Now that most of the boat is sleeping they have to question their own sleeping issue – namely, two people and one tiny bed.

Louis leans back against the wall thoughtfully. “We could do shifts,” he offers but he doesn’t sound wholly sure of himself.

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

His expression flickers for a second. “Maybe a little.”

 _Liar_ , Clem notices the hesitation and the noncommittal response makes her think he either means _‘I slept like a baby’_ or _‘not a wink’_. Judging by the drawn expression he’s been wearing for the past few hours, she assumes the latter.

Lilly's mocking voice echoes in her head. _"We didn’t have to knock him out, did you know that?"_

 _No, stop it_. Clem pushes that thought away – none of that matters right now. They're both tired, why doesn't make a difference. “Well I was out for longer, so if you want to do shifts you can go first.”

“I don’t think being unconscious counts as sleeping,” he counters. “I rested earlier, it’s your turn."

 _Why does he have to be so insistent?_ Sure, she thinks it’s nice, but neither one of them wants to budge on the matter. “Ok...” she sighs, “this isn’t getting us anywhere.”

Clementine walks over to the bed and pulls off the top-most blanket, flicking the material in the air before letting it rest on the floor beside the little cot.

“Clem... What are you doing?”

“Take the bed, Louis. There’s no point in shifts if we’re locked in here anyway.” Kneeling down, she straightens the blanket before pulling the ragged curtains out from beneath the mattress. Given how cold the night is, she’s thankful to have even the slightest bit of extra covering.

“There’s one big problem with that Clem,” Louis starts as he walks up beside her and the little blanket pile she is busy constructing. “Vi will kick my ass if she finds out I let you sleep on the floor. And AJ. And Ruby too, probably... and there’s no way Aasim’s going to back me up if that fight happens.”

Clem shoots him a glare over her shoulder, feigned fear marks his features and she can’t help herself from joining in. "What, you're scared of the girls and AJ?"

"Uh, yeah, definitely." He responds like it's the most obvious question ever. "I've seen girl fights, I don't want my hair pulled. My hair's like, ninety percent of my image, we'd all be lost without it. And there's no way AJ would let me off easy. I'd rather not have tot bites, thank you very much."

 _Better than a nut punch_ , though Louis doesn't need to know about that little bit of AJ trivia right now. “Well, I can’t speak for the girls, but you don’t have to worry about AJ. We’ve slept in worse places,” she mutters as she lies down on the blanket. It’s not comfortable or warm, and Louis staring down at her perplexedly with one eyebrow raised doesn’t help.

“Worse than the floor of a boat filled with raiders?”

Even though she’s already claimed the floor he doesn’t look like he’s going to take the bed. _Stubborn boy,_ but she has experience with stubborn boys not wanting to go to sleep. “How about you lie down, and then I’ll tell you. Like one of your card games.”

For a moment he tilts his head in contemplation. The fact that he has to deliberate at all tells Clem that he definitely is tired; he just doesn’t want to admit it. “Fine,” he concedes before stepping over her and onto the little mattress. The frame squeaks as he tries to find a comfortable position, which can’t be easy given how small the thing is. As the squeaking stops she sees Louis peering over the side of the bed at her, lying on his stomach and propping his upper body up on his elbows. “So, worst place you’ve slept?”

“Probably the night I slept at a power station. It was outside with this flimsy chain-link fence around it... and it was snowing.” A light snicker catches her attention, and she shoots Louis a glare that just makes him grin. “What about you then?”

He waves his hand and shakes his head lightly. “It’s not that interesting really. For a while everyone at the school slept on the floor of the admin building. Lots of snoring, lots of kicking, and whoever slept next to me always ended up being a heavy breather or a crier. Forty kids lying in rows like fish sticks with one teacher in the middle to make sure none of us smothered the snorers.”

Clementine lets out a light hum. “I think I probably would have liked that,” she mutters the words out softly.

“Really?” Louis starts tracing his chin with his thumb.

“It sounds nice. Having a bunch of other kids around like it’s a sleepover. Before the school I’ve only really been around groups who had one or two kids with them at most. Most of them had a parent there, and it’s not really much of a sleepover when you’re friend’s dad joins in. For the most part I slept next to adults or by myself.”

In her mind she remembers all the kids how she last saw them. Duck, the little boy who never got to grow up. Ben, who would probably hate the fact that her memory still classed him as the biggest kid. Sarah, who was soft like someone years younger. Gabe, the boy who wanted so desperately to be someone bigger than he was – and who knows, maybe he has grown into that person now. It would have been nice to have them all together at once. To have a chance to do stupid kid things while they had the opportunity to do so.

Then she had AJ to look out for, and all the kid things had to take a backseat to survival. He is the one person left from before who she tied her old memories to; little streamers that trigger nostalgic feelings whenever he smiles or catches the light in the right way. He has a lot on his shoulders, her confused little bundle – a son, a brother, and a friend. Sharing old stories and the little lessons others had taught her along the way in the hope to have some reminder of them within the little boy. If she couldn’t have them anymore, then she always still had him. He was her security blanket as much as she was to him. And now he’s not there.

“Clem?”

Her attention snaps back to Louis, the boy staring at her with concern over her prolonged silence. “I think I ruined the game. Sorry.” Her hands instinctively search the ground beside her, only for her fingers to dust across the floor. Cold and empty.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Louis says softly.

 _God, why does he have to look at me like that?_ It still bothers her that he seems to be able to read her mind whenever her composure starts to slip. Either he’s too good at seeing through her, or Clementine’s slipping – and she doesn’t like the latter option exists at all.

 “What about...” Louis starts up again with a slow excitement lacing into his words, “if you could pick anywhere else to be right now – and I don’t mean the school – where would you want to be?” He shifts himself closer to the edge of the mattress, propping himself up on his side to gesture with his free hand. “’Cause I’d pick a movie theatre. With a full candy counter and enough popcorn to fill all the dorm rooms. The kids can do their thing by the front seats, while us big kids can do our own thing at the back. Plus, can you imagine how fucking amazing it would be to make a blanket fort between all those aisles?"

"I expected something more musical," Clem mutters out. She tries to sound enthusiastic, but it's hard to bring her thoughts away from AJ at the moment.

Thankfully, Louis doesn't seem too bothered by her lackadaisical response. "What do you think we'd be playing on the screen? Every damn musical we can think of. It'd be the best karaoke machine ever."

His eagerness is infectious and she can't help the twinge of a smile that quirks her lips. _AJ would love that_. Seeing pictures move across a screen like magic; there’s no way she can adequately describe what movies are to AJ, he would probably think she was trying to trick him. She'd love to be able to show him the cartoons she grew up with – singing along to the musical parts that she used to know off by heart. Though it would probably mess with his head to learn Disco Broccoli sounds very different from her impersonation.

 "So?" Louis questions. "Where would you go?"

Clementine ponders for a moment. She's spent years trying not to think about all the lost things from the past, it has always been too depressing to dwell on. But now... well, she didn't expect to see half of the things she's witnessed in the past few weeks. Music, games, books, art... all the little things that fell by the wayside.

"I think... I'd go to a zoo. My parents took me once when I was really little... I think AJ would like it."

"And I bet the others would like that too... We’d have to keep an eye on Omar, don’t want him getting too many ideas about, uh, _exotic_ dishes.” Louis chuckles before going quiet again – the last thing either of them need is more discussions of food. “Imagine AJ seeing a giraffe, or a panda. Rhinos would blow the little guy's mind.”

"Yeah." A slow breath escapes her, there are so many things she wants show him if she ever has the chance. "He always thought I made things up when I talked to him about that stuff. I tried calling him a cheeky monkey once when he kept insisting on piggy-back rides... and it was so hard for me to explain what I was talking about. I don’t think he even believes that the ocean exists."

Her fingers unconsciously reach beside her again. The space is still empty. She never thought she'd miss AJ's bed-hogging tendency, his little shoes digging into her side whenever he tossed and turned. Clem lets out an airy sigh, she wishes she could just turn off the part of her that cares. It would make it hurt less.

“Clem?" Louis interrupts her thoughts, his eyes watching her hands as they search the air and ground for something that isn't there. "Clem, I want to try something.” There’s an assertive quality to his voice in that moment that absorbs her attention fully. Little squeaks echo through the room again as Louis swings his legs over the side of the bed. "Hop up for a sec."

Clem does as he asks, all the while giving him a curious glance.

As Louis stands he brushes aside the blanket pile with his feet. He grabs the side of the mattress he had been lying on and tugs it off of its metal frame. It falls to the ground with a thud, the sheets and pillow landing askew. After he straightens the bedding he places his hands on his hips and gives Clementine a mildly nervous look. “A sleepover? If you want, I mean. You don’t have to, but, you know... it’s a little less lonely?” She doesn’t think the last part is supposed to sound so questioning, like he himself isn’t quite sure what it is he intended to say.

Even though it’s his idea, Louis doesn’t move; like he’s waiting for Clem to either agree or slap him for proposing such a thing. When she thinks about it, it’s probably one of the few things involving other people that Clementine has had more experience with than him.

Most of her closest companions over her journey have been grown men, and they all wore a similar expression to what Louis wears now. Tip-toeing around how to ask the little girl what would be most comfortable for her – they wouldn’t force anything on her that she wasn’t comfortable with, and still they couldn’t deny her the safety of proximity if she wanted it. None of them needed to be so concerned, once they broke through that initial distrust she always wanted them close by. It was safer, warmer, and all around more comforting than being alone.

Still, she finds it amusing to see Louis being flustered by his own suggestion. After all of his _‘have you ever had a boyfriend’_ and _‘do you like-like anyone’_ talk it’s satisfying to have him on the receiving end of the awkward conversation for a change.

... There’s no harm in enjoying that, right?

“Hmm,” she hums while tapping her chin with the knuckle of her index finger, "promise not to kick me?”

Feigned indignation takes over his face. “Me, kicking my sleepover buddy? Never. And frankly I’m shocked you would even suggest such a thing.”

Clementine shakes her head at him before swatting his arm playfully. She moves to lie on the edge of the mattress – it’s going to be a close fit, she’s certainly going to end up on the floor by morning. There’s a pause where Louis remains motionless by the side of the mattress. “What?” Clementine asks as he stares at the bed. “Did you think I’d say no?”

“I...” Louis starts then tilts his head to the side. “I don’t know what I thought.”

 _Where did that certainty in his voice disappear to?_ She’s reminded of him back at the piano, all cheerful and joking before turning serious. It’s the change in tone that gives him away, like without the humour the confidence has nothing to latch on to.

“This doesn’t have to be weird, Louis. Just lie down and go to sleep,” she pats the mattress to emphasise the words.

“Yeah. Right. I can – I can do that.”

The bed dips as his weight settles in beside her, both lying on their backs and staring up at the ceiling. Clementine grabs the discarded blanket from the floor and throws it over the pair of them, the chill leaving her skin almost instantly with the added body heat. Their shoulders press together as they both try to balance out sharing the space and not tipping off and onto the floor – not that it was that far to drop, definitely less than if Louis didn’t move the mattress off the frame, but neither of them wants to be the one to hog the bed.

And she was wrong... it is weird. She doesn’t know why it’s weird, but it’s definitely weird. It shouldn’t be any different to when she used to sleep beside Lee, Luke, Sarah, or even AJ. Yet something is clearly different here, though she can’t put her finger on what exactly is causing the feeling. She is suddenly very aware of her own breathing and wonders whether Louis can hear the different, unnatural rhythm as she tries to be normal.

“Goodnight, Clementine,” the words are followed by a poorly stifled yawn.

“Goodnight, Lou.” All of her physical and mental exhaustion catches up with her, sleep chasing her faster than the lingering strangeness.


	7. Chapter 7

_She walks._

_Her skin tingling as heat licks at her heels and slowly creeps higher. Every step lets out a fizzle as the burning dies under her boots, reigniting with a hiss as soon as she moves again. It smells like the smoke wafting off of a freshly snuffed candle, not entirely unpleasant, but here it sets her teeth on edge. Because the only things that ever seem to burn in this place are people or things that definitely shouldn’t be on fire._

_She marches a familiar trail, hearing the chorus of crackling leaves that signal a season dying. The sound of the breeze rushes past her yet she doesn’t feel the gust on her skin or clothes. It feels false, the entire environment being constructed from familiar pieces without any of the connecting fibres. Even with all the little blazes the landscape is dark, as if nothing exists at all until it’s within arm’s distance._

_Yet she isn’t afraid, she knows where to go. The small part of her that registers that something is wrong is quickly smothered by the louder voice that screams out how to end the madness._

_Follow it. There is no breaking out, no stopping the stampede that rushes towards her. Moving with it is the only thing that will keep her standing, following along until it decides to end._

_The sounds guide her; first the rustling of nature, then the babbling water, and finally the awful wailing that grows more desperate with each step. It scrapes against her eardrums, peeling away her resolve to keep moving. But she refuses to stop, not until she no longer has the strength to breathe – no matter how many times the sound grates away at her._

_It physically hurts to hear, like her skin is shrinking away and putting pressure on everything underneath. Soon her flesh will surely pop, like an overstuffed toy filled with meaty bits that seep out through the stitches. It will start at the nails – it usually does. The area around her nail beds pulling so tight that the solid bits fall out with the slightest disturbance; trails of blood streaming out of the raw patches, staining the ends of her fingers a deep crimson._

_But she looks down and finds her hands still intact. Instead of bursting nails she sees a gun in her hands, burning cold like ice. Its muzzle is already blemished with gunpowder and a splatter of something,_ someone _, who got too close. The metal framework is leaking out a bloody mess, bubbling out from the barrel, the trigger, and the seams around the ammo cartridge._

_What starts as a drip begins to gush out in torrents, extinguishing the flames at her feet and painting the world red. Colour leeches into the blankness like spilled ink, spreading from the floor up to the ceiling while leaving rippling puddles around her ankles. She lets the icy pistol slip through her fingers, watching as it vanishes into the sea of its own creation._

_The world takes shape around her, encapsulating her in a confined space that seems to pulse with an arrhythmic heartbeat._

_The shrieking grows louder, and she feels something in her chest collapsing. The pressure is too much, her face and extremities breaking out in little paper-cut sized splits. It should unnerve her more than it does, it should be awful to see parts of her breaking under invisible pressure... but it isn’t. It’s like someone dragging their nails over her skin, the memory of contact occurring simultaneously all across her body at once._

_She turns her attention back to the world around her. Forms take shape in the blackness; a tiny black silhouette cowers in the one corner of the room that remains burning in spite of the wet colour plastered on every surface. She tries to run closer, but the rubber on her boots has turned into a tar-like sludge that sticks to the floor. Each step is slow and accompanied by a building heat that tingles her skin – like the fire still exists even though she can’t see it. Slowly burning her, yet she carries on. She can’t stop now._

_Glowing beacons lock onto her approaching form as the silhouette turns. Giant eyes that shine too bright for the shadows on the cowering face. Like a human shaped lighthouse, trying to communicate something through captured starlight and spinning mirrors. She doesn’t always understand the spectacle, as much as she wishes it could come naturally to her. It didn’t before, and while she has learned some of the patterns, new ones are constantly appearing to throw her off balance._

_The light flickers as she tries to hold out a hand for the shadow, but no matter how hard she tries the silhouette seems just out of reach. Tauntingly close, all it has to do is lean forward and she could brush the ash away from its cheeks._

_She opens her mouth, to call for it,_ for him _, to tell him to come to her. No sounds form, her tongue moving uselessly while the light-boy stares. Asymmetrically blinking like he’s trying to signal out some sort of warning – rapidly switching the room from bright to dark and back again. An awful feeling rolls through her, the all too familiar sting that follows when someone she cares about wears an expression that screams_ ‘I don’t know you’ _._

_The shadow stops signalling and stares unblinkingly at her face. She can’t make out the rest of his features behind the light glare. A part of her hopes that this time he does recognize her, then maybe he can understand. But no, that wouldn’t be any better; she doesn’t want him to understand. It feels worse if he does remember, because then he’d know who to blame._

_It’s her fault. It always has been._

_The bad thought sprouts like a fast growing seed, viny tendrils bursting forth to sap her energy away. Her mind sluggishly works to resist the trauma that she knows is surely coming. Because it always comes accompanied by all the fire, the red, and the screaming._

_“I’m alone. Don’t you care that you left me?” The high-pitched, bubble-filled voice echoes around the room while the shadow’s mouth remains fixed shut._

_Of course she cares – she’s never stopped caring, no matter how much easier it would be to stop. He has seen the worst of her, and nothing she can do will ever fix that. But she thought that maybe she could make him forget; with enough time she could end the guilty torment she inflicts on herself._

_The flames surrounding him surge up, evaporating most of the boy and her extended hand into vapour. It should hurt, she should be screaming, but there’s no pain to speak of. All she feels is sickness rising in the back of her throat; her stomach lurching at the wrongness that exists between her head and her body. To see the absence and to feel nothing, almost like it never existed at all._

_“If you don’t care, then you should have let me burn.” A singular beacon of light continues to glow, stuttering like it might be dispelled at any moment._

_No... She does care. He has to know that. She wouldn’t have done any of it if she didn’t care. Leaving him to the unknown or the flames is out of the question._

_She reaches out again; hand and stump groping through the fire to find the boy. It isn’t too late if he’s still breathing; she can save what’s left of him. He could be completely blind, he could have the skin burned away from his bones – she doesn’t care how bad it gets, she’d give anything to keep him from being lost completely. It will be hard to carry on with him in such bad shape, though that challenge hasn’t stopped her before._

_More of her disintegrates, steam rising from the barrier separating what’s left of her from what’s left of him. Still she persists and forces herself forward, her legs melting into the floor after a single step and sending her crashing downwards. Her temple hits the ground and all she sees is the flickering beacon watching her dissolve into the red ink. The light gives out one last flash before disappearing with an audible pop._

_Now that most of her body has ceased to exist in the red world, the pain finally reaches her. Gut wrenching, like someone has started a chainsaw inside her chest cavity. Every little paper cut dusted with salt, all the burns scraped with a coarse cloth that catches on the blisters. She tries to scream, to cry out at the horrible ripping that tears apart her heart and lungs. Any noise she manages to make is drowned out by the horrible mix of crackling wood and the thick, sloshing liquid that fills her ears._

_“We’re all alone. We’re all burning, Clem.”_

 

\-----

 

Clementine wakes up with a start. Her limbs flailing as she tries to get the blood back into her fingers and toes – to bring some feeling to the pieces of her that have lost all sensation.

Nothing is working right; her mind still stuck somewhere else. Her body refusing to reset itself, she still feels as if her chest has collapsed and that if she happens to look at her hands she’ll see either a sea of blood or nothing at all. Like she’s still in the burning room with the ear-splitting noises that continue to rattle her skull.

_Why is it still there?_ It’s not supposed to follow her, not here.

Something bites into the skin of her left forearm and she thrashes against it, her right hand swiping for whatever is touching her. As soon as she feels something solid beneath her palm she pushes back _hard_ , scrambling away from the unwanted contact; her feverish skin burning in the bitterly chilled air.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Clem!”

_Ah shit_. It’s still early, the light far too soft, and her bleary eyes have trouble focusing on anything other than vague shapes. But she’s pretty sure she just propelled Louis’ back into the side of the metal bed frame. It’s a very sudden and sobering experience, propelling her harshly out of the nightmare mindscape and into the dark reality of the cell.

“Shit, I didn’t- Louis, are you ok?” The words rush out while she edges closer to the boy.

He’s sitting on the mattress and rubbing the back of his shoulder, trying to ease the pain from where it impacted on the hard edge of the horizontal bar. “Remind me to never wake you up again. Lesson learned, let Clem sleep in; damn, dude.”

“I’m so sorry,” she reaches out to him, scooting forward on her knees and leaning over the mussed up bedding to rest her hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to,” the excuse sounds like something AJ would say, but she doesn’t have a better way to say it.

“You were _screaming_ , Clem. I thought I was helping.” He looks so lost, suffering from the same abrupt wake up that she is.

Stomping boots thud on the upper deck and Clem has a feeling they’re coming for her. Louis looks up, his eyes following the sounds echoing from above them. There’s no way she’s going to be able to explain this situation away before they get down to the cells. At least, not in a way that covered everything and stopped the kicked-puppy look that Louis is wearing. Although, this is probably the one time where the look may be justified.

God, why did she have to have a nightmare now? And why did it have to be one where the noises followed her out of sleep? It has been weeks since she’s had one of those dreams, and usually she’d wake up to see AJ already on alert – his eyes trained for threats that might follow her distress. The little boy didn’t try to wake her, at least not from what she can remember, and now she’s quite thankful for that since she evidently can’t trust her sleep-addled brain.

Taking one final shuffle closer, Clementine wraps her arms around Louis’ neck. His skin is warm in the morning air, the pair both sporting goose bumps without the comfortable shield of blankets. A tense wave rolls through him as she does her best to hug the problem away. “I’m sorry,” she repeats the apology by his right ear, whispering softly as she presses her face into the crook of his neck.

He hesitates for a moment before circling his arms around her waist, thankfully avoiding the bruised patches on her front. It’s not the most comfortable posture, stretching awkwardly to avoid sitting on his lap or throwing all of her weight onto him, and in turn pushing him back against the bed frame – but he’ll have to endure this one cuddly moment.

Something about the rapidly approaching footfalls feels final to her; she can’t leave him thinking he somehow caused this. Or maybe the boat and the nightmare are making her paranoid. Drawing awful conclusions from a half-finished puzzle. She can’t know for certain what these people are planning; she isn’t even certain of her own plans anymore.

What she does know is that she doesn’t want any of them to be alone... to be helpless and searching. She hopes that Louis can feel the sentiment through her hold on him.

If she could, she would stay there and list all the little things that he needs to hear right now. A proper expression of her gratitude and the sheer gravity she feels pulling her towards him – something that she feels more strongly now than she did back in the safety of the school. And she feels she owes him an apology for this moment, for the situation in general, for Marlon... for what she knows is probably coming.

The cell door clangs open with a series of harsh metal scrapes. Louis’ dreads tickle her nose as he turns to look at the doorway; his hold on her pulling faintly tighter.

“Clementine,” Lilly’s voice is gruff and slightly breathless, sounding every bit like a grumpy taskmaster. “We need to talk. Now.” As if to emphasise her words, something clicks – Clem recognises the sound as the hammer being pulled on a firearm.

_Wait... is she alone?_ She pulls away from Louis, sitting on her heels to confirm that yes, Lilly is alone. _That’s breaking the rules,_ Clem knows that Lilly isn’t stupid enough to break rule one without reason. There’s ice in the woman’s stare as she motions her pistol towards the pair.

“I’m not playing games here. Move. Unless you want me to test my aim.”

If it weren’t for the gun, now would be the opportunity Clem has been waiting for. Two on one, and it would be easy to open the other cell and run. They’d have to abandon their gear, which would suck, but she’ll take life over her dad’s hat if she has to. With the gun cocked and aimed at her, it’s a moot point anyway.

 Clementine obeys, standing up and trying her hardest to ignore Louis’ fingertips grazing her ankle as she walks away. She doesn’t look back; she doesn’t want to see Louis reacting to her willingly acquiescing to their captors, even if she’s doing it to protect them both.

At least she thinks the boys understand why she’s keeping quiet. If the circumstances were different, she wouldn’t hesitate to rise up – but there’s more on the line here. One screw up could be enough to end one of them. They keep a cap on their tempers to stop possible repercussions; though she doesn’t like the quiet disconnect and sense of morbid acceptance that accompanies the obedience.

_It’s better than the alternative..._ she thinks. _Maybe._ She’s not so sure there’s a _right_ answer anymore.

Lilly re-locks the door behind them before latching onto Clem’s wrist, twisting her right arm behind her back and pushing her in the direction of the stairs. Something about the half-assed attempt at restraint bothers Clementine. Even in a situation like this, she doesn’t like being seen as incapable of causing havoc if she needs to. Devolving from improvised manacles to hand-holding feels demeaning.

As they begin moving her ears catch the sound of knuckles on metal sounding from behind her. She strains to hear a reply, to have the other side signal that everything is ok, but Clementine doesn’t hear anything – she hopes it’s only because they’ve moved too far away for her to pick up the counter response.

_Please,_ _if something happens... watch out for each other_. She’s happy to take the brunt of the Delta’s spotlight if it will save the boys from breaking. Her stomach for trauma has grown over the years, and while she feels stretched to her limit she hopes that her previous resilience protects her now.

“Where the fuck is that girl?” Lilly mutters under her breath as they start ascending to the upper deck of the boat – so quiet that Clementine thinks the words are an emotional slip and aren’t really meant for her ears. “None of you kids know how to be disciplined, do you?” This time she is directly addressing the girl in front of her. “I keep giving you all chances, and suddenly I’m the bad guy when the penalties come around. You’ll never learn a thing under my watch if you think you’re above consequences.”

_Oh, fuck right off with that_. She _really_ wants to fight back on that statement, chewing on her lip to stop herself from blurting out more fuel for the rant. _Maybe none of us want your lessons. Or maybe you’re just a shit teacher._

“But you’re not like them, Clementine,” she continues as they approach the pilot house, “I was going to come down and chat with you before breakfast, but you had to beat my own crew at waking up early. I shouldn’t have been the one running down to check on you, I’m not even supposed to be on duty yet. Figures the one person on this boat who matches my schedule without prompting is someone in the cells.”

“I think we’ve had this conversation before, Lilly, about how you think we’re both special. I haven’t really changed my mind, in case you’re wondering.”

“Of course you haven’t. We’re both too strong-willed to change so easily.” Clem can practically hear the smile on Lilly’s face as she speaks. She doesn’t really like the jovial Lilly any more than the stern Lilly – neither is harmless, even if one wears a pleasant grin and deals out compliments.

The doorway to the pilot house is ajar and Lilly pushes Clementine towards the seat she had been using during the mixed interrogation-power play yesterday. It feels odd to sit without the restraints. Even stranger still to see the mess that has filled the tabletop since she last saw it.

Something about Lilly’s temperament has always given Clementine the impression that she wouldn’t tolerate mess, and yet the table is covered in papers that the woman haphazardly pushes to the side before she sits across from the girl. Her eyes follow the movement, watching as the documents crumple up beside a rather misplaced looking toolbox sitting on the far end of the surface.

“There,” Lilly gives off that friendly aura that still puts her on edge, especially combined with the pistol still held in the her hand, “isn’t it much nicer when we cooperate? We don’t have to agree on everything, Clementine, but this transition will be much easier for all of us if we don’t fight on every step.”

_It would be easier if you let us go_. They could part ways on poor terms and be done with the whole sordid affair. Clementine knows better than to chase a monster for the sake of revenge, if said monster decided to leave her alone. Being stuck in her lair though is a whole other dilemma. The longer they’re stuck in the same place the more likely one of them is going to snap. And Clem knows she’s the weaker one in this situation; she can’t afford to snap.

“Staying quiet isn’t an option here, Clementine. We can start this meeting off on a better foot, and maybe we can see to your food arrangements. But I’ll need you to behave, like a good girl. You understand, don’t you?”

_Don’t patronise me..._ She wants to be angry, but damn her traitorous stomach for twisting at the mention of food. “I do.”

A wider grin pulls at Lilly’s face. “Very good,” she praises while slipping a hand into the pocket of her jacket. With a casual flick, she tosses another of those blasted cable ties onto the table. “I’m sure you won’t mind putting these on, since we’re working together – consider it your first task for the Delta.”

Clementine bites her tongue, the pain distracting her as she follows the command. She has to pull the tie closed with her teeth, stopping before the binding digs into her skin – unlike everyone else who has used the contraption on her. “Happy now?”

“Don’t start with that attitude,” she warns with a pointed glare.

“Well I’m sorry if I’m not in a great mood. I’m cold, sore, and hungry, and it’s not like you’re innocent in that problem.”

“And neither are you. I suggest we drop the topic before you say something you’ll regret,” Lilly punctuates the statement by jabbing a finger against the top of the table.

Clem lets out a sigh. Being calm would be so much easier if she didn’t start the day so off kilter. She didn’t so much wake up on the wrong side of the bed, it was more like waking up on the far side of the room... on a cold floor while wearing summer clothes during a rather chilly night.

“Let’s try this again.” Lily finally holsters her gun before leaning her elbows on the edge of the table, resting her chin against her interlocked fingers. “Where have you been? I doubt you just strolled over from Georgia without running into trouble.”

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you. I got by.” Judging by the harsh huff that Lilly makes, it’s not what she wants to hear. “If you want a specific answer then ask a specific question.”

“Fine, we can skip the pleasantries if you’re going to be like that. Who is the little boy?” Lilly’s eyes skip down to the tattoo on the girl’s hand. “AJ.”

An alarm goes off in Clem’s head – this isn’t a good thing to answer, at least not honestly. This could be an attempt to milk for information, and that could lead to another Tenn and Minnie situation. “Why do you want to know about him?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your concern; but I make it my business to know what baggage our group is dragging around. He’s not yours is he?” A strange look flitters behind Lilly’s eyes. _Disgust? Discomfort?_ Whatever it is, it doesn’t look right on her face.

“He’s more _mine_ that anyone else’s.”

“But he’s not yours,” Lilly surmises with some relief in her voice. “I did tell you I’ve run into all sorts in the past few years – some of them... Well, it wouldn’t be unheard of if he was yours. We don’t have to have a chat about children do we?”

“Ugh, no.” Clementine responds quickly. That conversation was uncomfortable enough the first time, though Kate at least sympathised with the awful time Clem was going through. Having someone as stern as Lilly attempt to give that speech might just break her.

And Lilly actually chuckles at the response. It’s a... strangely pleasant sound when she’s not trying to be mocking. “I don’t need to separate you in the cells do I?”

_And the pleasant feeling is gone._ “I’m not _doing_ anything with Louis – and if you’re so concerned about us sharing a bed, then maybe you should have given us warmer clothes.”

“Clementine, we both know why I can’t do that. We’re not stupid, and we can’t have you all passing notes when we turn our backs on you.” Lilly leans back and crosses her arms across her chest.

She glances out of the cabin’s windows, the rising sun shimmering off the water and sending rippling lights across the environment. “What about the New Frontier,” Lilly begins again without taking her eyes off of the morning spectacle, “where are they?”

“Somewhere in Virginia. I couldn’t tell you where exactly.” It’s a blatant lie. She remembers Richmond and the people she left there quite well; and while it’s possible they have moved she doesn’t like the idea of giving the Delta anything to work with at all.

“But you were with them. Was it an outpost, or a stronghold?”

“Neither when I was with them. It was just a big group.”

“You’re awfully defensive about your connection with them for it to be that simple. If they were harmless when you knew them, then I doubt you’d care about that mark that you kept covered.” She looks back over at Clem, the hard stare back in place. She opens her mouth to continue but abruptly stops, her attention absorbed by someone approaching the open doorway.

A thin woman marches up to the door, Clementine recognizes the blonde woman as the one on patrol last night. “Lilly, we have a problem,” the woman is clearly flustered and stops herself from revealing more when her eyes land on Clementine.

For a moment Lilly seems torn on what to do. Eventually, she stands and levels Clementine with strict expression. “Don’t make me regret this,” she jabs a finger in the girl’s direction before walking towards the door. “Stay in the chair.”

As the pair leave, Lilly remains by the threshold for a moment – closing it and presumably slipping the padlock back onto the room.

Clementine listens intently to their footfalls on the metal deck. Waiting for them to be far enough away for her to get up – because no matter how cooperative she has to be around these people, she can’t let an opportunity like this slip away.

They move far enough that she thinks they may have left the top of the boat entirely... Maybe that should be concerning, and there is actually something really awful unfolding just out of earshot. Because she doesn’t think they’re brainless enough to leave her unattended in the room with a stockpile of supplies and the controls for the whole boat. _For the love of god, the boys better not be doing something stupid right now._

She stands from the chair and walks over to the windows that overlook the forest. It’s really just to check to see if there is a commotion on the shore, though there is no one in sight. A glimmer catches her attention in the tree line – shining like metal but at the level of the branches. Such a thing wouldn’t normally cause her any concern, scraps of all sorts end up in every nook and cranny, but this one looks familiar.

Squinting her eyes against the glare, she can make out the rectangular shape tied to the trunk of one of the trees with tattered cloth. It’s buckled in places and partially covered, yet she can see a sequence of letters and numbers printed on the metal. An ‘A’ at the beginning and a ‘4’ at the end.

_Is that... my licence plate?_ _Oh shit._

They know where they are. It has to be them, the kids at the school. These raiders would have no reason to find a random licence plate significant – but AJ would know that Clementine would recognise the signal.

Every fibre of her wants to burst with excitement, like the weight of everything has finally been lifted off of her. It’s too early to be relieved, but god damn if it doesn’t feel good to know they aren’t alone. Even without knowing any plans, just being aware that there _may_ be a plan is enough. She can’t wait to tell the boys... _quietly_ , when the patrols give them a few minutes.

_Ok... what do I have to do?_ She can’t do anything that might fuck up their plans, but surely there has to be something she can do to help.

Clementine turns her attention back to the room around her. Sabotaging the boat would be an easy enough thing to do, destroying the panels and switches with one of the chairs. Yet that would surely put her at the top of Lilly’s shit-list in a matter of seconds. No, she can’t just smash it, and she doesn’t know enough about all the machinery to think of a way to discreetly damage anything.

Finding a way of getting out of the cells might help. Or out of the restraints. She moves over to the shelves of supplies, being careful to keep her footfalls light; which in truth is made quite a lot easier since the Delta took her boots.

Scouring through the shelves, she searches for something useful and small enough that she might be able to disguise it on her person. Annoyingly, she has to pass up on any of the tools – all too big or too sharp for her to hide.

She moves on to the clothing shelf, spotting a plastic tub with various hair ties and pins. _Perfect_. The solid metal things are small and sturdy enough that if she shoved one into the gap of the cable tie it would probably open it up enough to release the teeth.

Fishing the pins out with her bound wrists is a little tedious, but she manages to pull out several of the metal things. They are thin enough that she can slip then into the drawstring compartment of her shorts, forcing them behind the string that circles the waistband. If someone was looking closely, they could probably see the outline of the contraband – but if someone is scrutinizing her pants that strongly then she probably has a far worse problem to be concerned about.

Her ears pick up the quick thuds of someone running and Clem rushes to sit back on her chair. _Don’t look guilty_ , she reminds herself, _or excited_.

More noises pick up and it sounds like either an argument or someone aggressively venting. It puts Clementine on edge as everything grows louder and closer.

Lilly reappears in the doorway with a pair of followers; Sullene and the thin man who she has only really caught glimpses of in the periphery thus far. He’s an older looking man with a weathered face, bald head and greying facial hair. The women look thoroughly pissed, while the man just looks tired and fed up with whatever situation has cropped up.

The door is thrown open harshly and all the adults move with a purpose – it’s incredibly unnerving to sit still while they buzz around her with determined energy. The man goes straight for the shelving units, Sullene for the toolbox, while Lilly grabs the spare chair and drags it to sit by Clem’s side.

“What-“ Clem starts, but Lilly interrupts her before she can finish.

“Stop. I don’t know what you’ve done, or how you’ve done it, but this _stops now_.” Her words are seething; bitterly angry yet trying to keep a semblance of control.

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Where’s Minnie?” Lilly blurts out while the others start compiling an alarming pile of contraptions on the table.

“I don’t know? She’s your soldier, shouldn’t you know where she is?”

“She’s not going to talk,” Sullene cuts in. The woman looks down on the seated Clementine while passing a flat-bladed tool between her hands – some sort of triangular builder’s trowel. She doesn’t like the menacing way that the woman concentrates so much energy on the inanimate object.

“Probably not,” Lilly agrees before relinquishing the chair to Sullene. She taps the woman on the shoulder to get her attention before dropping the room’s padlock and key onto the table. “But the ones downstairs will talk if they know anything. The louder the better.”

With those ominous parting words, Lilly leaves Clementine in the room with Sullene sitting in front of her and the older man fiddling with the portable cook top on the table. Sullene is quick to pull out more ties and lean over Clem to fasten her upper arms to the chair’s backrest.

_Fuck. This is bad. This is really bad._ “I don’t know anything,” Clem repeats the words more urgently, but the plea falls on deaf ears.

“Do you really think I care?” Sullene leans back in her chair, gesturing with the trowel at the girl’s face. “You’re gonna sit there and lie through your teeth to get out of this. But this was bound to happen at some point anyway.”

“Flame’s on,” the man mutters out. At least he doesn’t sound like he’s quite as thrilled by the situation as Sullene is. He holds a hand out to the woman who passes him the trowel. The small fire wraps around the blade of the tool as the man heats it.

“Oh, fuck no.” The curse slips out as soon as Clem realises what they’re planning. “I’m not lying – _I’m not lying to you_ – I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“Like I said girl,” Sullene smiles and Clem’s stomach drops, “this was going to happen at some point eventually. Can’t have a Delta soldier walking around with another group’s mark.”

“No, no, _no_ ,” Clementine tries to back away, forcing the chair back with her feet.

“Gad?”

“On it,” the man utters as he passes the heated trowel back to Sullene and moves behind Clementine to stop her escape. “No hard feelings, girl.” With a firm shove to the back of the chair, he keeps her trapped in place in front of Sullene.

“There’s plenty of hard feelings, Gad. You didn’t see what she did to Yonatan.”

“You guys started that fight – I didn’t want anyone to die.” She’s desperate now, her feet kicking out at Sullene’s shins. The woman simply forces the girl’s feet to the floor under her boots.

There just isn’t any regret or second thoughts in the woman’s eyes. She _wants_ to do this, and there’s nothing that she can do to stop her. Sullene’s left hand latches onto Clem’s wrist as she brings the trowel towards the old brand. “Best not to move too much, unless you want this to take more than one attempt.”

She’s given no time to brace herself. The blade presses into her skin, and it’s pure agony. Her eyes slam shut as all the colours in the room turn blindingly bright. The burning sensation radiates throughout every part of her body – not just the contact point on her arm. It’s worse than the New Frontier’s branding iron, since this thing is solid and covers the brand completely. Sullene’s forceful hand doesn’t help; the blade stutters and shifts, each minute motion pulling at the skin that sticks to the metal. Clem’s vaguely aware that she’s screaming, her jaw straining to try to stifle the noise.

_And the smell_... Absolutely horrendous, it’s the kind of smell that causes bile to rise up involuntarily in her throat. Yet she simply doesn’t have enough in her gut for her to vomit, even if she wanted to.

It’s over in several seconds, but it feels like so much more. The pain stays long after the burning stops. She lets her head loll towards her chest, panting and sputtering through the excessive amount of tears and saliva that her body has decided to make.

Someone presses a wet cloth against the burn and another peal of pain rolls through her. Damn their stupid mix of awful and ethical treatment of wounds. Whoever it is fusses around her arm for a while, wrapping it she guesses, while they mutter away to the other person. They sound like they’re far away, even though she can feel their hands on her.

The restraints that were holding her to the chair suddenly go slack and she finds herself hunched over her own knees. A hand hauls her upright, fingers curling around her unscarred arm, and she somehow forces herself to follow them as they drag her out into the open air.

Her mind is lagging behind, adrenaline and pain mixing together and leaving peculiar blanks in her head. In one moment she’s leaving the pilot house, the next she’s on the stairs, and then she is back in the cell without the ties holding her wrists together and a frantic looking Louis staring at her.

“We’re getting off of this fucking boat,” Clementine states resolutely.


	8. Chapter 8

“Are you sure?” Louis questions, his breath fogging up the grimy porthole while he stands on the tips of his toes to get as clear a view as possible. If he were any closer to the glass he would be able to taste the collected grime on each inhale. “Not that I doubt you, but are you sure this isn’t a lake in the desert, mirage type thing?”

“I know my car, and that is definitely from my car.”

“Ok. This is good, right? Tell me this is good,” the boy adds while stepping away from the window.

“They know we’re here, they won’t leave us.”

Louis nods his head lightly. “Yeah, I know. I just needed to hear it from someone.”

“We’re getting out of here, Louis. We’re going to go home and leave all of this behind,” her voice breaks slightly on the words. It’s relief trying to bubble to the surface, even though she tries to smother it. They still have a hard slog ahead of them. “We’re going home,” she repeats the words more resolutely, like a goal instead of a dream.

But Louis doesn’t look relieved at all. His dark eyes drop to the sopping bandage on Clem’s arm. The wrapping lets out the occasional drip, the droplets leaving cold trails down to her wrist. None of the boys asked her for specifics – they had heard enough echoing from upstairs. It’s just one more thing to throw into the dirty laundry basket, left for a time when she can be bothered to process it properly. Besides, Clem has been more focussed on the potential for escape rather than the throbbing in her burned skin.

“We told them we didn’t know anything,” the words fall from Louis’ mouth like an awful secret; soft and carrying a guilty burden.

 As much as she believes him, there’s something more on her mind. She doesn’t want to ask, but she has to know. “Did you do anything to Minnie?”

“What? No! Of course not. If I knew anything I would have said so before they... did anything.” Genuine remorse colours his cheeks, even though the implication of his words troubles Clementine. She hopes he’s just saying that because she’s standing in front of him, and not because he trusts the Delta to keep their word. Because all the evidence seems to be stacked against them in that regard. “I haven’t seen Minnie since dinner last night – and I only spoke with her once yesterday morning.”

“And you didn’t say anything weird to her? Nothing?”

“Nothing. She asked us about the school, but she froze up when we tried to ask her anything. I don’t think Vi could have even gotten past the icy bits without a chisel and hammer.” Clem can’t claim she knows Minnie at all, but Louis is clearly hurting over the situation; drawing his mouth into a tight line that scrunches up the rest of his features. While she’s had experience with people changing after a prolonged absence, this is all new to the school kids. To them, it’s like Minnie has come back from the dead as something much more alive than a walker – and yet she’s still completely different. “Is it wrong that I hope she’s ok?”

“No, it’s not wrong. You’re a good person, Louis,” Clem says sincerely while reaching out and resting her hand on his shoulder. The smile she sends him is supposed to lift his spirits, yet something unnerving settles behind Louis’ eyes; almost like the words are painful for him to hear. “Louis?”

He steps away from her – not far, just enough for her extended hand to fall away. “Look, I uh... I need to tell you some things,” his eyes can’t seem to find hers, his gaze locking onto her shoulder instead. _Guilt_ , she thinks, _maybe regret_. “You might not feel the same about me being good when I tell you, just... You need to know. But not now, and not here.”

 _Fuck_. If whatever he’s talking about is bad enough for him to be concerned – the boy who could get joy out of finding a walker piñata instead of food while they were borderline starving – then it must be something awful. She has a hard time believing that, though. Any moment of kindness is a rarity now, and he has offered her more than she probably deserves. “You’re not going to be able to change my mind, Louis. It’s the now that matters, remember?”

The small twitch in the corner of his mouth is enough of a victory for Clementine. If the boy wasn’t so busy trying to stay firm, he’d probably be grinning; she’ll take that as a good sign. “If we get out of-“

“ _When_ we get out.” None of that self-doubt is allowed anymore, not on Clem’s watch.

“Right. _When we get out of all this_ , then we’ll talk. I promise. And I mean that like a ‘if I don’t do it you have permission to hit me’ kind of promise.”

“Well, speaking of hitting,” she starts and Louis tilts his head curiously at her, “we do need to get serious about something. How much experience do you guys have with hand-to-hand fighting?”

“Uhhh...” His jaw hangs open slightly and makes Clem feel stupid for even asking. She has seen the kids throw single swings, but those were uncoordinated reactions – the one time she’s seen any of them actually fight was Violet with Lilly, and Louis with that riflewoman. That too was mostly reflexive movements, grabbing, shoving, and pulling out of desperation instead of practiced techniques. It wasn’t enough to save them then, and it definitely won’t be enough to save them now if they get into a scuffle.

“If we’re going to get out of here, there’s a good chance we won’t be able to get our hands on our weapons.” Clem steps back a few paces to peer out of the door and into the other cell. A mildly sheepish looking Aasim is standing by his doorway, not happy with being spotted listening in to the conversation she expects – not that she expects any less, he’s probably listening for any patrols too so he can tell them when to shut up. “Omar’s not up for fighting, is he?”

“No,” Aasim answers quickly before looking off to his side. Quiet conversation echoes for a moment before he turns back to Clementine. “He’s _not_ putting weight on that leg until he has to,” the emphasis is directed to his side and is followed by more indistinct grumbles that draw his attention away again, “because we can’t have you tripping down the stairs when your leg cramps. I’m serious, dude, I can’t carry you if that happens.” The mild scolding weirdly reminds her of her teacher at school – _god, when’s the last time I thought about her?_ She hopes that’s not what she sounds like when she has to reign in AJ’s overexcitement.

“Ok...” Clem sighs. “So, Omar’s out. That just leaves you and Louis.” She looks over to the latter boy; he must have stepped closer at some point since he’s right behind her as she turns. “And we need to make sure we can get out if they try to restrain us again.”

 _Right, the pins._ She moves her fingers towards the hidden pins within the drawstring compartment of her shorts. “Uh, Clem? What... What’re doing?” Louis stutters out. _Of course_ , she forgets that the boy only seems to be able to read her mind when she doesn’t want him to – and fiddling with her pants in the middle of a conversation probably doesn’t look that normal.

After a little more fiddling she manages to remove one of the pins and holds it up for him to see. “For the cable ties. You’ve seen where they put the thing in to open them up?” She mimes the action of using the pin around her wrist before holding it out for him to take; which he does with a sly smile on his face.

Clem turns back to the hallway, Aasim eyeing her curiously as she holds up another pin for him to see. Smart boy that he is, he seems to understand the significance of the object instantly. They still need something to pass a pair of the pins across the hall.

“I got it,” Louis speaks up from behind her. He shuffles among the bedding that remains on the floor before pulling out the tattered old curtains. “Not as long as my coat, but it should work.”

“Good thinking,” Clem smiles at Louis as she holds her hand out for the curtain; though he pulls the fabric back towards his chest before she can reach for it.

“It’s probably better if I do it, Clem. Longer arms,” he tries to justify his thinking. Though as far as she’s concerned, it doesn’t matter who – so if he wants to do it, she’s happy to let him do it. She hands over a pair of the pins. “Thanks, Clem.” There’s a sincere smile on his face. The poor boy has been just as helpless to change things as her throughout this whole imprisonment – it probably does wonders for his composure to finally have something he can do, no matter how small.

Slipping the pins onto the fabric and tying a knot on one side, Louis brushes past Clementine to peer down the length of the hallways. They all go quiet as they try to make sure they are definitely alone. It’s a little unnerving that there hasn’t been so much as a peep since she returned to the cell – but they’ll take what good fortune they can get. The boys move quickly to take advantage of the lack of supervision; sticking their arms out of the bars and trying to pass the objects between them. Instead of the frantic back-and-forward she remembers from yesterday, Louis manages to flick the fabric into Aasim’s outstretched hand after only two attempts.

“Keep them somewhere you can get to them easy.” Clem watches as Aasim slips one of the pins behind the buttons of his shirt. She looks over to Louis who seems to have actually put the pin in his hair, hidden amongst the dreads and only really noticeable since she’s actively looking. _Well, can’t say that isn’t practical._

The final pin she leaves in its hidden little compartment. Hopefully she’ll be able to get it with her hands bound at the wrist – _hopefully it doesn’t come to that at all_. There’s nothing wrong with being over-prepared.

 _Now the hard part._ “I hope you’re ready for some sparring practice,” even as she tries to make it sound pleasant Louis bristles. Whatever enthusiasm he has managed to grow dies really fast.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Clem, but I think we have different ideas of what _spa_ means. If there’s some secret Jacuzzi you’re not telling me about, then I’m all in. But I don’t want to _fight_ you.” The boy holds his hands out, palms exposed like he’s pleading. It feels a little cruel to deny him, but now isn’t the time to put this off for later. They can’t afford to be unprepared.

“You’re not going to hurt me, Louis,” she doesn’t miss the way his eyes instinctively fly to her scarred and bandaged arm. “I’m not made of glass. Besides, it would make me feel better knowing you can hold your own, ok?”

“I _can_ hold my own... sometimes.”

“Well, let’s turn that into _all of the time_.”

Louis lets a long breath out through his nose. “Fine. Ok... but this another thing that Vi’s going to kick my ass for, you know.”

“We’ll be home by then, so I’ll consider that a good thing.” The attempt at humour might marginally lift his spirit, but she still feels like she’s dragging him into a class that he really doesn’t want to be a part of. “Just think of it like your piano songs. You know, knowing what key to press when you hear the one before it.”

That seems to cause Louis to grin. “You have no idea how music works,” he stifles a laugh. His expression lights up and Clementine can practically see the thoughts forming in his head. “Ok, I learn to spar, and you have to take piano lessons, deal?” He holds out his hand, extending his pinkie finger while lifting his eyebrows expectantly.

A laugh slips out of her at the sight. It’s just a silly spectacle, and damn her for finding it charming still. “Deal,” she mutters out as she locks her finger with his. At the very least, it’s one more promise to spur them both on through whatever is coming.

The rest of the morning is eerily quiet. There’s no breakfast, and even more concerning is the lack of patrols. Not that she wants to be spotted teaching the boys to fight, though her brain doesn’t let her relax. They could be interrupted at any moment, and the consequences would be terrible at a time like this. But the interruption never comes, leaving her constantly tense in anticipation.

Clementine devotes as much attention as possible to demonstrating some fighting basics to Louis. How to deflect a hit with a sideways blow. Where to grip a wrist to loosen a person’s grasp on a weapon. Forcing someone off balance by taking out their knees. Going for the face if they manage to get too close, and the weakness that comes with the body’s inability to not follow the head when it’s forcefully redirected. And one full motion that puts the disarm and knock down action in quick succession – grabbing at the wrist while jabbing an elbow towards the opponents face, then kicking at their legs to send them further back.

Louis tries his damndest to follow along – but Clementine can tell he’s not fully into it. Too jittery and too unsure of the power behind his movements. It’s another moment that she puts down to him restraining himself for her benefit. His grip on her arm is weak, and he merely taps his foot against her leg instead of trying to sweep her off her feet. She gets it, and she’s not angry about it, but each demonstration is far too slow to mimic an actual fight. _At least he’s getting the motions down_.

Occasionally, she looks to her side to see Aasim mirroring her and Louis’ practice. It would be much easier if she could have them spar with each other – then maybe Louis wouldn’t be so timid and they could both face someone who is at least marginally closer to the height of the Delta raiders. She doesn’t fancy any of their odds going up against the big man, Michael. Even with training, striking up is far more difficult than punching down. Not impossible, but definitely not easy.

“Stop,” Aasim whispers harshly and all the practice abruptly ends.

Clem can faintly hear the voices echoing up from downstairs – too muffled to make out the words, but someone is definitely pissed. Or perhaps more than one person given how much yelling is going on. _So much for being part of the big happy family_. Not that she really believed such a thing to begin with.

“Hey, Clem, you should look at this.” Louis has positioned himself precariously with his knees on the top of the old radiator. It’s the only way for him to be able to look down at the pier and shore given how high the portholes are. The boy hops down and offers Clementine a hand to climb up.

Outside she can see a pair of the raiders marching along the pier, their arms laden with wood and an assortment of scrappy looking materials. “Shit,” Clem can’t help the swear from slipping out, “they’re getting ready to leave.” The raised voices aren’t yelling out in argument, they’re giving orders.   _Urgent_ orders.

 _They wouldn’t leave without Minnie and Abel, would they?_ As soon as the thought occurs to her she realises she’s giving the group too much credit. It seems callous to just abandon them, yet Lilly has already set a precedent in this regard. Leaving people behind hasn’t mattered as much to her as getting out of dodge when things turned too rough. And being down by a third of their fighting force seems like a losing battle at this point.

All Clementine can hope for is that whatever plan the others have made happens faster than the Delta can load up and start the boat. Which she really wishes she could put an actual estimate to – at least then she can know when to start panicking.

She scans the tree line as best she can through the foggy glass. In her old story books this would be the time when the heroes strolled in and rescued them. It feels a little weird now to see herself as the one who needs rescuing instead of the hero. Her pride doesn’t like it, but that’s only a tiny concern considering everything else.

“So... what do we do?” Louis asks nervously from beside her.

And how she wishes she could say something reassuring right now. There’s only so much she can speculate from the pinch of information she actually has to work with. Everything is relying on the kids at the school to actually come for them, and that they know more about the situation than they do in the cells. She’s putting all of their eggs in the most tenuous of baskets – a basket that she has to take on faith as to whether it even exists at all.

“I wish I knew, Louis.”

 

\-----

 

The patrols still don’t continue, instead one of the raiders patters around in the little rec area. Blocking the stairs and keeping watch, Clem imagines. Whoever it is doesn’t leave the deck, and she could forget they exist at all if not for the occasional shuffle of feet or shouted order directed at the shore.

 _They don’t expect us to get out_. Which is fair enough, given the circumstances. The raiders have clearly decided that the kids can conspire as much as they want behind the bars, and it will all be for nought if they can’t get out. So why watch them in the cells at all?

They’re stuck with having visual privacy, but no auditory privacy. Practice can’t continue just in case they manage to draw the wrong type of attention – namely the gun-toting type. Whatever has got their feathers so ruffled is probably going to be putting them in an equally poor mood, and it’s the least opportune time for them to inadvertently step on their toes.

Clementine remains stuck by the circular window, the metal radiator digging into her knees painfully while she tries to spot the point of no return. The point where all bets are off, when the escape plan will be arriving too late. If it reaches nightfall and there’s no sign of their friends, or if the Delta members finish collecting their gear, she’s afraid she’ll have to take matters into her own hands.

She’s been thinking it over; planning for the last ditch effort. Unfortunately, all those plans involve her appealing to Lilly and hoping she makes the same miscalculation she did before. Taking her to the pilot house without bothering to get backup, and leaving her unsupervised. It doesn’t seem likely, and her only alternative then would be to unshackle herself and try to _fight_ her way back to the cells. She doesn’t want to risk it alone – especially if rescue is right around the corner. But she’ll do it if it seems like the boat is about to leave.

 _I can’t lose AJ again_. The fact that she managed to find him the first time was unbelievably lucky, it’s next to impossible that they’d find each other a second time. At least, not in the same state in which they separated. And there’s no way AJ would stay put, the pair of them marching through hell towards the other when in all likelihood they’ll miss each other on the way – moving forever in opposite directions with no hope of crossing paths again.

The day drags on, Clementine nervously picks at her nails every time she peeks out the porthole to see less salvage being moved. Everything else just turns to background noise in her head. She no longer feels the bruises, the burn on her arm, the chill on her skin, or even the intense gnawing in her stomach. None of that will matter if the boat starts moving.

 _Fuck_... The sun will be setting soon. It can’t be much longer now, even with all the guns and lights they can’t possibly be stupid enough to keep moving around for long in the dark. Which means they’ll either leave the surplus behind and start the boat during the night, or they’ll stick around until morning for the leftovers. It’s one hell of a gamble to hope for the latter.

If they want to get out today, their best bet is trying to run into the forest just as the daylight fades. Keeping quiet and putting as much distance between themselves and the boat before it gets too dark to track them. Because it’s a stupid idea to run through the forest at night – but it’s the kind of stupid that might save them.

Clem’s eyes pull away from the window and over to Louis. The boy has been sitting on the bundle of bedding and staring at his feet for the past hour or so. The most she’s heard out of him is the occasional clink of his teeth against the hair pin that he rolls between his lips. It keeps him distracted from talking and drawing too much attention, though his brow is still drawn low as if he’s perpetually lost in thought.

“Louis,” she whispers at the boy. His attention shifting from his feet as he pulls the pin further into his mouth. It’s a wonder he hasn’t swallowed the thing yet. “Do you trust me?”

Panic is the first emotion she can pinpoint on his face, followed quickly by concern. He knows that the question is not a good a sign of what’s going through her head right now. “Of course I do, Clem,” he whispers back even though his expression screams discomfort at having to say those words.

Clementine takes in a deep breath before letting it out in a slow sigh. _Now or never_.

She walks over to the doorway, gripping the bars in her hands as she brings her face as close to the door as possible. “Hey,” she half-yells into the doorway, waiting for someone to respond. “I know you’re there, asshole.”

“Clem,” Aasim appears in the opposite doorway, shooting her a confused look. His eyes dart over Clem’s shoulder, and whatever other concerns he has go silent. She assumes Louis is hovering somewhere behind her and trying to signal that everything is ok. Or he’s also panicking – but she doesn’t turn around to check.

Footsteps approach the cell from the rec area, and Clem finds herself facing a rather pissed off looking woman. She recognizes her as the blonde raider who alerted Lilly to Minnie’s disappearance. She’s armed with a rifle that she thankfully lowers slightly as she approaches Clementine. “Who are you calling an asshole, girl?”

“I need to talk to Lilly,” Clem ignores the angry look on the woman’s face and forces her voice to remain firm, “I need to talk to her _now_.”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to order me around, girl.” She raises the gun like an idle threat.

“And I don’t think Lilly will like _you_ denying her information – so how about you go tell her that _Clementine_ needs to talk to her.” The girl gets a small sense of smug satisfaction as the woman grimaces.

A harsh noise escapes the rifle wielding woman as she lowers the weapon minutely. “Fine, but she doesn’t take kindly to people wasting her time. For your sake, it better be worth it.” The woman continues to mutter under her breath as she walks back down the hall. Hopefully to call for Lilly...

Louis’ calloused fingers circle her right arm, pulling her lightly back from the bars. “What are you doing? You’re gonna get yourself killed, Clem.” There’s a harshness to his whispers as his grip on her pulls tighter.

There’s no denying it’s a possibility – and she’s not going to lie to him by pretending otherwise. But... she can’t let this keep going. “Trust me, _please_.” She stares into his eyes, pleading with him to not shake her resolve now and make her change her mind. It’s too late to back out now. Yet, maybe if he trusts her, she’ll be able to trust herself.

Indistinct shouting echoes through the halls, but at least now Clem can tell it’s the woman yelling down to people on the pier.

“I _do_ trust you, but I don’t like this...”

“Yeah, I know.” _But it’d be worse if you knew more_. “Just remember I’m doing this for all of us, alright?”

They stand together in silence, Louis pulling his lip between his teeth like he can somehow force the uneasiness away. His thumb rubs mindless circles on her arm, and she half-expects him to protest – to give one of those speeches that always happened in old movies that convinced someone to change their mind. But maybe he just can’t find the right words.

Clementine can hear the thudding of boots on the metal stairwell. _Time’s up._

“Keep your head down ok? Don’t say or do anything unless you have to.” A small part of her wants to leave him with some parting words... just in case. However that feels like inviting a bad omen onto everything. There’s no need for last words – she’s coming back. They’re all getting through this.

Lilly approaches the doorway and Louis’ fingers slip away as Clem turns back to the door. A sour look is plastered across the older woman’s face; not anger but irritation. It takes her a moment before the social mask slips into place. Clementine still doesn’t like how Lilly seems to tailor herself so easily to every situation. “Can’t say I was expecting you to want to see me again so soon, Clementine.” Her eyes focus on the bandage on the girl’s arm. “I see you were taken care of. Good.”

“I’ll talk,” Clem cuts to the chase rather than talking in the circles that Lilly spins.  “Whatever you want to know – AJ, Lee, the school, I don’t care. Just bring the guys some food, _please._ ” She plays up the desperation, selling the conversation as a bargain rather than a ploy. A bargain that Lilly clearly comes out as _winning_.

 “What the fuck, Clem,” Aasim interjects from across the hall. _Good_. Being angry helps.

“Do you want to eat or not?”  Clementine shoots back, much to Lilly’s growing enjoyment. That lopsided smile growing into a full smirk.

Lilly draws her pistol and aims it into the cell. “Everyone comes around eventually,” she mutters under her breath. “Back away from the bars, the both of you.”

Backpedalling to the back wall, she finds Louis suddenly grabbing onto her shoulders. His eyes burn into hers as he places himself between the opening door and Clem, blocking her view of Lilly. Clementine tilts her head at him curiously before he abruptly brings his hands up to cup her cheeks. His mouth finds hers and she feels like her head might just explode in that moment.

His thumbs press at the top of her jaw and she can’t help the panic that surges up as he forces her mouth open.

 _What the fuck... WHAT THE FUCK._ This is _not_ like Louis. But then she feels it – that fucking hair pin that he’s been fiddling with sticking out between his teeth. He passes the pin to her, and she has to suppress the urge to reject the offering – because she is very uncomfortable with the sudden leap in intimacy that he’s made, even if its purpose is not romantic in the slightest.

Did she forget to tell him she still has a pin, or is he just worried she won’t be able to access it easily? She really hopes he’s thought this through and realises how defenceless he has made himself by giving it to her.

“I’m not going to kill her, kid, save it for later,” Lilly’s voice interrupts the moment as Louis finally draws back.

His face is bright red, as Clem is sure hers is too. She presses the pin into the gap between her cheek and gums – hoping beyond hope that she can talk around it without Lilly noticing. Because there’s no way she can return it now. Louis takes several steps away, his cheeks blaring as his eyes focus elsewhere.

Lilly motions with her pistol for Clem to walk forward but it takes the girl a moment to remember how to make her feet work. _God damn it Louis,_ now she’s all flustered and that makes leaving him alone in the cell so much more difficult.

“Come on, Clementine.” Lilly urges a bit more forcibly and the girl starts moving. When she’s in front of the woman she follows the routine – binding her wrists before placing a guiding hand on her shoulder and leading her towards the upper staircase.

The late afternoon breeze catches her hair as they make their way across the upper deck. It feels like ice on her burning cheeks. And while she should really be taking the opportunity to scan the environment, her brain is all scattered. _Focus_.

There’s no one else on the top deck, and she starts to formulate the bones of a plan. If she can somehow remove Lilly from the situation, then there will be no one standing between the cells and the lifeboats on the upper level. They’d need to be incredibly quiet, opening the cells without the other woman downstairs noticing. Sticking low to ground while they board a lifeboat and potentially ride the slow current down river and just out sight before bringing it to shore. If the others are out there, hopefully they’ll be watching close enough to notice the escape and be able to adjust for it.

 _That just leaves Lilly_...

They reach the pilot house, Lilly dropping her guiding grip on Clementine to open the door and usher the girl inside.

Clem takes her usual seat – trying not to think about what happened the last time she sat in the room. “Any chance I can eat something while we talk?” _Just leave the room for five minutes._

“Negotiations don’t work that way, Clementine. I ask the questions, and if you answer nicely then maybe I’ll think about it.” Lilly takes her seat on the opposite side of the table, holstering her gun and resting her elbows casually against the tabletop.

“Then ask,” Clementine mutters.

Lilly opens her mouth to speak but closes it when someone outside yells. The relatively quiet atmosphere suddenly erupts with noise. Something explodes and sends a shockwave through the metal of the boat that vibrates through Clem’s bare feet. Glass is shattering and a series of percussive thumps echo across the room.

Lilly redraws her pistol, and moves away from the table. Clem is quick to push herself out of her chair and onto the floor – just the barest bit of protection against anything flying in through the windows. A string of curses fly out of Lilly’s mouth, and for once Clem can’t help but agree with everything the woman says.

_Shit, not now... why now?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo.... yeah, sincere apologies for the delay on this one. Illness and my own brain fought me hard on this chapter. Thanks for your patience in the matter.
> 
> Please consider this fic on a variable update schedule for now - at least until my health sorts itself out. Plus I would like to write ahead a chapter or two if possible to give myself the editing room I'm more comfortable with (lesson learned that I'm much more likely to get stuck without that wiggle room). If you're desperate to read something from me, I've been working through some little mini stories on the side to try to get over my writer's block and I'll probably end up posting there again before updating this - stop by and say hi if you'd like.
> 
> \- Pi
> 
> * 30/06 Minor edit for typo's that I missed. My bad, guys.


	9. Chapter 9

Once, when Clementine was really young, she remembers her family being invited to a neighbourhood barbecue. It was one of those social get-togethers where she knew none of the other kids, but they all played happily in the yard while the adults cooked or drank through the summer heat. For the most part it was a normal day, the kind of harmless thing that would have faded from her memory a long time ago if not for one moment.

Something happened, she still isn’t sure what exactly, but the entire barbecue caught fire. Flames taking over the entire grill plate and sending everyone into an instant panic. Plastic yard furniture was tossed aside in the frantic rush of all the adults trying solve the problem.  Someone had the bright idea to flip the lid shut using the handle of a broom and the disaster was extinguished like a candle – it was only a few moments of danger, yet it didn’t stop all of the children from turning into crying wrecks for the rest of the event. Because of course the sight of an uncontrolled flame scared her.

Clementine was allowed to be scared of things, she was just a little girl, and yet seeing the adults equally afraid sparked something awful in her. They weren’t supposed to be scared; they were supposed to know all the answers, being able to fix everything before reassuring her that she didn’t need to be afraid anymore. Calming down was far harder after seeing that illusion break. There was a nagging tremor in her chest that refused to settle until her parents decided it was time to leave.

She remembers they went out for ice cream afterwards, even though her dad hated going into town on Sundays. They ran the radio quiet for that trip while her mother played constant rounds of _I Spy_ to distract her. Going for a pleasant drive and getting a sugary treat obviously wasn’t enough to stop the memory from sticking to her brain.

The smell is what she remembers most. Burning oil and fat from the blackened food, the spilled drinks being trampled into the grass, and the awful undertone of singed hair from the poor man who was standing over the grill at the time.

To smell that again now is enough to twist her stomach into knots. It’s made far worse by the additional reminder of her own burns – the smell of her own skin melting. That alone is enough to make her want to wretch, and it’s only the first layer of horrible sensations assaulting her. A secondary explosion sounds from outside and is accompanied by the splitting of wood and shouting. It sends another shock wave through the metal framework of the boat, the vessel lurching in the water.

Everything seems to move far too slowly, a single second taking four seconds to pass. Clementine does her best to shelter with the rearmost wall against her back. Bracing against the solid metal is equal parts comforting and disconcerting – a barricade that protects her but also magnifies every little bump on the boat to the extreme.

She watches as something resembling a misshapen cannonball flies at the pilot house window. The glass shatters into a crystalline mosaic, broken shards propelling into the room like horizontal rain. The oddly shaped projectile sails overhead before colliding into the storage shelves with a wet smack.

It takes her a moment to realise what the object is, because it can’t possibly be what it actually looks like.  It looks like a head, _a walker head_ that someone has wrapped in ropey vines like some sort of organic sports helmet. But something like that simply shouldn’t be flying towards the boat. Yet the rotten thing is very much there, on the floor of the room with its hollow eyes and freshly split skin.

 Beneath all the layers of greenery the walker’s face contorts against the vines blocking its jaw from closing, teeth weakly gnashing with no hope of biting down. Its dead eyes lock onto hers, piercing but not really seeing. The brief happiness Clementine feels for not recognising the face is short lived.

 _What the hell are they thinking?_ Clem has to assume this is being orchestrated by her friends – and she _really_ wants to understand what the bigger picture is, but through the adrenaline it’s hard to focus. She already had Lilly and the rest of the raiders to worry about; now she has to add broken glass, random explosions, fire, and projectile walker grenades to the list. None of it would be nearly as concerning if the Delta hadn’t left her with the bare minimum in terms of protective clothing.

“Shit!” Lilly curses loudly as the voices from outside grow more intense. Her expression shakes, the commanding mask fractured with the sudden onslaught of danger surrounding them. Clementine is reminded of how poorly the woman has reacted when she was last accused of being scared – though, frankly, she is uncertain if it’s fear or anger that is causing Lilly’s manicured expressions to break. It is a bad sign either way.

The woman is still pressing her back against the wall beneath the now shattered window. Without the glass pane everything in the room seems to rattle in time with the unobstructed noise. Every thump, yell, or pop of weaponry being mixed into a sea of mayhem.

“You little shits are going to kill everyone here,” the woman seethes. Her attention drops onto the pistol in her hands, ejecting the magazine to check her ammunition before her gaze locks onto Clementine across the room.

 _She can’t possibly think this is my fault_ , Clem reassures herself. Shame that Lilly’s piercing eyes undermine that idea. It hardly matters if Lilly has _proof_ of fault, she can convince herself of anything in a dire situation. A string of bad thoughts rush through Clem’s mind in an instant. The biggest concern being that Lilly may just shoot her right here and now. It won’t solve anything, but it will scratch that retribution itch that she is certain Lilly has.

Thankfully, the woman has bigger concerns to deal with than the girl with bound wrists. She snaps the ammo cartridge back in place before quickly aiming and shooting the disembodied head lolling around on the floor. The gunshot echo reverberates through Clem’s eardrums for a few seconds before the buzzing dies.

 “If you want to live through this, Clementine, keep your mouth shut and fall in line,” she punctuates the words pointedly by jabbing the muzzle of her pistol in the girl’s direction. “Are we clear?”

“Clear,” Clementine responds as resolutely as she can. Lilly doesn’t look convinced, a crease forming between her dropping eyebrows.

“This isn’t a game to me.” The words are spoken harshly and Clem doesn’t miss the obvious threat lingering at the edges. “Do you think anyone else here will keep you alive? You’re a pawn to them; I’m the only one who will be able to keep you off the front lines. Think about whether that’s something you want, Clementine.”

 _What I want is to go back to the school_. Lilly can pretty up the losing path with all the possible luxuries and empty promises of safety, but it will _never_ be something Clem wants. Standing on the back lines as Lilly’s little pet while her friends go off to die... _No, fuck that_.

Lilly creeps closer, staying low to the floor while keeping her pistol held forward. She narrows her eyes at the girl as she grabs for her wrists. With rough and harsh movements, she pulls Clementine over to the storage shelves.  The woman spares no time in making sure Clem is shackled against the vertical beams with another tie.

Clementine doesn’t resist in the slightest, because she knows this is probably the best thing that can possibly happen right now. Lilly thinks she’s securing her prize for later, while Clem can appear subdued. Being the terrified captive that the overconfident woman wants; one more thing for her to be wrong about once this day ends. She has to contain the impulse to swipe her tongue against the hair pin in her mouth – the metallic taste turning into something satisfyingly sweet in her mind.

“You better hope I don’t die out there,” Lilly throws down the parting words before she scuttles back towards the doorway.

 _It’d save me the trouble_ , Clementine thinks resentfully as she watches the woman disappear into the chaotic mess outside before the door swings shut. She doesn’t even hear her replace the padlock on the door. Either the threat of the situation is shifting her priorities, or Lilly has become so convinced she’s won that she has forgotten just who she’s dealing with.

Normally Clem would wait until she was certain that Lilly was well out of earshot, but this time the need to escape is stronger. She manoeuvres the pin from her cheek to between her teeth. With her arms secured she’d have a hard time getting her own pin free without awkwardly contorting herself. As much as she’s still mortified to admit it, she has to thank Louis later for jumping right over her comfort line and giving her his escape key. He could still probably have told her beforehand to avoid the shock.

 She forces the pin into the gap on the ties, blocking the plastic teeth and letting the cable pull back through the locking mechanism. The tie drops to the floor with the pin still protruding from its lock. It’s the first step towards freedom... hopefully with everyone else getting out in tact behind her.

 _Ok...ok._ Clementine forces herself to take several slow breaths as she uses the brief moment to put her thoughts in line. _I need to get downstairs and open the cells, that’s priority one. A weapon would help... and our stuff._ Though she’s willing to abandon their things if she has to.

Her eyes scan the shelves beside her. They look relatively the same as the first day she arrived, if slightly less stocked – the slight mess leading her to believe someone was scrounging through the gear in a hurry. Even the spare clothes she remembers seeing are no longer there. She looks further through the stockpile, but of course, the Delta couldn’t make things easy for her and leave all of their belongings in a neat pile. Wherever they are storing their possessions, it isn’t here.

Brushing aside everything in her way, she uncovers the dreaded toolbox. Just tracing her fingers across the surface raises goose bumps across her skin, though she perseveres and looks inside. The trowel is missing. As much as she would have liked to return the favour and use the tool against them, she’s a little relieved that she doesn’t have to see it, much less touch it, again.

What she does find is an array of other items that she would love to stuff into her backpack for later. A series of pliers and wire cutters, all mostly rust free.  Screwdrivers, Allen keys and mini wrenches. Enough screws and nails to comfortably repair all the broken furniture at the school and then some. The scavenging part of her brain wants to throw the lid shut and take everything, but she knows better than to try lugging a full toolbox around in the middle of a war zone. 

Her focus drifts over every option and lands on an old, familiar friend. A claw hammer, _perfect_.

She slips the handle of the hammer into the side of her shorts, letting it hang holstered while she continues to grab weapons for the boys. One pair of wire cutters and the two screwdrivers with the longest shank.

A harsh scream shatters Clem’s focus; ripping and tearing the air as pained voices cry out. Her heartbeat races, and it kills her inside that she can’t tell if any of the human noises are familiar or not. It’s all blurring together into an awful tangle of wretched sounds. Dismissing the misery is her only option, even if it weighs heavily in the back of her mind. If those voices are her friends... sadly it makes no difference to the path she has to tread. No matter what, she can’t help them now, all she can do is run.

Remaining low to the floor, Clementine ambles over to the closed door. _I need to remember to breathe_.

After steeling her nerves, she forces the door open. The approaching sunset washes the landscape in red. Spot fires light up the landscape in patches – and more alarmingly, portions of the boat are ablaze. Wooden crates and metal alike are burning with the acrid smell of some sort of alcohol. If she chanced walking over to the railings, she’s sure she’d see evidence of similar fire traps on the shore. Though she might see far more troubling things; such as the source of the screaming or the sights of one of the Delta’s weapons aiming in her direction.

The one good thing she notices is the distinct lack of silhouettes on the upper deck. _Good_ , she moves as fast as her bare feet will allow on the glass littered ground. Every other step she feels the sting of either the glass or the super heated metal; she can’t determine which and honestly she doesn’t care. Her eyes are far too busy scanning for anything vaguely human.

A heavy, wet, thump sounds from behind Clem, and she instinctively whips her head around to see the upper half of a walker slumped against the side of the pilot house. The rotten thing must have hit the metal head-first as it goes instantly still. Or it was dead before it started sailing through the air.

 _But why?_ She can hardly even fathom _how_ , but whatever her friends have planned just isn’t lining up for her easily right now. But there has to be a reason...

  With nothing occurring to her, she has no choice but to continue forward and towards the cells. Whatever purpose the walker bombs are serving will hopefully still be useful even if she doesn’t understand why at this moment.

Leaving the mystery behind her, she scurries back to the staircase. The commotion from outside echoes through the corridors and thankfully it covers her thudding footfalls. Each step rattles menacingly underfoot and the railing feels far too frail under her right hand. Or perhaps that’s how it has always been and only in the frenzied atmosphere has she started to notice how many stressed seams the boat can potentially burst through. 

Clementine charges into the hallway between the cells, relief washing over her when she sees the place is deserted of guards. Her feet threaten to slip out from beneath her as she beelines for her and Louis’ cell; she doesn’t even announce herself, just drops the tools in her hand before she skids to a halt by the doors deadlock and throws it open. The hinges scream loudly in spite of her stopping the door’s motion before it crashes into the wall. With all the other noises in the air, she just hopes this goes ignored for at least the next few minutes.

“We need to move, now!” Clem pops her head into the cell and feels her heart sink like lead.

The room is empty and suddenly the world might as well be silent behind the ringing in her ears. Her lungs struggle to breathe through the crushing weight being forced around her chest. It doesn’t matter how many times her eyes dart around the room, Louis isn’t there. Nothing but emptiness and the tousled mess that was their sleeping area on the floor. 

It takes her several seconds to register that the rest of the world still exists. She whirls around to the opposing cell and catches a livid Aasim mid-sentence “-down the hall, the fucker!” The boy has visible tension pulsing through his temples as he yells. White knuckles grip at the door and rattle it against its frame. “What the fuck is going on, Clem?”

 “I’ve got no fucking idea!” Her frustration boils over– she’s making this up as she goes, and still she’s being blocked at every turn. Nothing has worked how she expected since the Delta ransacked the school, and thinking on her feet is getting harder with each new hurdle. Her free hand curls through her hair in aggravation, tugging at the strands in some vain attempt to pull her mind in line. There’s only one thing she is certain of at the moment. “You need to leave before they come back.” She leaves no room for argument before moving to open the cell.

“What about Louis?”

“I’ll find him – you need to take Omar upstairs.”

Aasim is quick to scoop an arm across Omar’s back, supporting the younger boy’s weight as he stands. It’s a slow shuffle as Omar attempts to walk normally – it’s a good effort, but still far too slow for him to be able to move on his own. Even with the wound being cleaned, the area is still visibly swollen; either from not being able to rest or infection... she really hopes it’s the first option. The boy is clearly uncomfortable, but Omar’s eyes reflect nothing but concern when he looks at Clementine.

 The girl picks up the tools she threw to the floor earlier, holding the handles of the screwdrivers and wire cutter towards the pair. Without a word, they both accept the screwdrivers and Clem hooks one of the wire cutter’s handles into the hem of her pants alongside the hammer. “There are lifeboats, get in and get ready to leave. If things look bad, don’t wait for us. Just go.”

A huff of air escapes from Aasim’s nose. For a moment she thinks he’s going to argue or scold her for being reckless, yet he does neither. “Lilly took Louis downstairs,” in spite of their arguing at the school, Clem can see the concern etched onto his face. Whatever shred of stoicism he has tried to maintain is gone; they’re all too beaten down to hide their emotions back in the slightest. “I can come back and-”

“No, take Omar and watch out for trouble.”

“You promise to come back?” How Omar manages to keep his voice in check is astounding to Clem. The boy shuffles lightly in place as he tries to settle the faintest bit of pressure on his injured leg.

“I promise – and I’ll bring Louis with me.”

“Be careful,” Aasim cautions her lightly. Clementine tries her best to nod reassuringly before she turns sharply towards the rest of the boat. She doesn’t spare a glance as she rushes off.

Separating is bad, but what else can she do now? Dragging Omar and Aasim through the boat would be a recipe for disaster. They’d move slower as a group, and be a louder, bigger target. None of those things would help her or Louis right now. She’s already playing catch-up, and she has to move fast if she wants to make up the difference.

Her feet threaten to slip out from beneath her with each hurried step. Even as she barrels through the overturned furniture in the rec area, Clem refuses to slow down. All the while her brain works furiously to put everything into place.

 _Fucking Lilly_ – taking people and things like they’re nothing more than toys designed for her benefit. Things to be discarded the second they stop being what she wants them to be. Though neither Clementine nor the other kids ever planned on playing along willingly; maybe the woman has finally become wise to that fact and decided to make do on her threats. Taking one of them to bear the punishments she wants to dole out to all of them.

Though surely now is hardly the time to be playing the disciplinarian. Did she somehow know that Clem would break free from the pilot house? Or perhaps she’s just covering all her bases. Forcing any rescue attempt to scatter if they wanted to get everyone out. And of course Clementine would never willingly leave him behind; Lilly knows that and isn’t above using that to her advantage.

 _She’s not going to do anything to Louis_ , the words echo irately through her head. Not because she doubts Lilly’s willingness to harm him, but because she’s going to find him and carry him to the lifeboats if she has to.

 _And Lilly..._ The woman has had enough second chances.

A startling realisation forces its way to the forefront. Something that she has been viewing from the surface without diving into the full depths. None of this can end while both she and Lilly have a thimble full of fight left in them. They’ll chase and clash against the other like rabid dogs until one either submits or becomes too weak to keep moving. And Clementine doesn’t plan on submitting or dying anytime soon.

She fumbles down the stairwell into the lower deck of the boat, catching the briefest glimpse through the ramshackle barricades on the railings. A mass of bodies shuffle around the shore, groaning and shambling around with the occasional flash of a firearm going off in the crowd. More disconcerting is the destroyed splinters of the pier. Wooden fragments drift along the bank while other pieces have been propelled fast enough to impale the forest vegetation. There’s no getting out now without traversing the water – and that too sloshes with the motion of bodies bouncing in the shallows.

All that Clementine can hope for is that her friends were smart enough to back off after lighting the fuse of this chaos. Even better too if the rest of the Delta _weren’t_ smart enough to turn and run back to the relative safety of the boat.

As if to answer that thought, heavy footfalls ricochet through the open spaces around her. She can’t be sure whether it’s Lilly or one of the other raiders lucky enough to still be on board – but she’s willing to take the gamble. Clem follows the noise as she draws the hammer off of her hip. A panicked voice echoes through the divided corridors – thankfully, the deep voice is busy on the opposite side of the massive bits of machinery. Judging from the clanking of metal on metal and his stuttering mumbles, he’s preoccupied with his own task.

More disjointed noises flow through the boat. Clementine has trouble knowing if the thumps and bumps are coming from inside or outside, though she can faintly identify the sound of a door slamming closed somewhere up ahead.

Sticking low to the floor and bracing herself against every corner, she pauses until she’s sure she’s in the clear before charging forward. She passes through the room of machinery, down another corridor, and finally beyond the open washroom on her way towards the nose of the boat. The corridor cuts to the left and a double-wide door lies in the centre of the right wall. Her spatial awareness is muted within all the tight corridors, yet she’s pretty sure that whatever lies beyond the doorway encompasses far more space than any of the other rooms she’s seen. Perhaps a cargo area.

She tries to hear through the walls, but all she can discern is the scraping of _something_ against metal and what may be muffled voices. The scraping could be the benign shifting of the boat in the water, or something far worse. Her grip on the hammer handle tightens as she places her hand on the door.

A wave of trepidation rolls over Clementine as the hinges creak open. A single light bulb stutters in the middle of the large room, exposing the cramped area in fluttering bursts. It’s a lot for her eyes to take in, and it doesn’t help that the boat and all of its contents are in a constant sway.

All the supplies that aren’t needed in a hurry seem to be placed haphazardly throughout the room. From the wooden crates that used to be on the pier, up to the stacks of hay for the Delta’s horses. In some areas the stacks and full shelving compartments reach close to the ceiling, obscuring the room into a labyrinth of corridors and passageways. If there’s any place on the boat for her to find their things, it’s going to be hiding somewhere beneath all this mess.

A heavy thud followed by a pained wail sounds from somewhere in the room; the force behind the noise propels Clem into the room before she even realises she’s moving. She weaves through the maze of supplies towards the continuing sounds of pain. _Louis’ ragged breathing,_ her brain screams.

Everything in her vision pulses the most vivid scarlet.

Whatever she has done to him she promises to return to Lilly tenfold. Every sharp word, and every time she caused someone to bleed or be bruised... all the little thorns she’s dug into other people will be put onto her. And she _won’t_ be gentle.

All those prickly edges she grew on the road are coming back. The sleeping aggression and quick temper that used to keep her safe when she was on her own. It’s been a long time since it has reared its ugly head, though now seems as good a time as any for it to reappear. She doesn’t particularly like the feeling, all sharp and heavy inside her, though she won’t deny that it’s far too good a weapon to suppress right now.

_Lilly’s had enough second chances, this ends now._

Turning a bend in the stacks of supplies, Clem sees him at the far end of the room. Louis has been secured to one of the tall shelving units, his hands being held up above his head height. Her stomach twists when she sees the unnatural angle of his right forearm. An extra bend warping the space between his elbow and wrist. The boy is breathing harshly through his clenched teeth and doesn’t seem to notice her presence at all.

Clementine can’t get over to him fast enough. She rushes forward, her bare feet making just enough noise for Louis to turn his eyes over to her. What she expects is relief, not the sheer panic that marks every inch of his face. His lips part into what looks like the beginning of a fearful scream.

By the time she registers the expression it’s already too late.

She hears the gunshot before she feels it. Like a crack of thunder being held within a tin can, spliced together with the incoherent noises that Louis is making. She manages one more step before the piercing pain sets in. The muscles in her left leg seize up for a fraction of a second then go completely lax, causing her to stumble to the ground. Her hammer flies out of her hand as she narrowly avoids smacking her face against the floor.

She was so close, only a few paces away from freeing Louis and running...

Lilly tuts her tongue mockingly as she meanders out from her hiding place amongst the stockpiles. The nose of her pistol is aimed squarely on her fallen form.  “Not who I was expecting,” she mutters under her breath as she ambles closer. “I thought you would know better, Clementine. Check your corners.” Lilly nudges the hammer with her shoe until it is out of the girl’s reach.

“Fuck you and your corners,” Clementine spits harshly.

Her attitude is rewarded by Lilly placing her boot on the back of her left shoulder, forcing the girl to collapse fully to the ground.  “Don’t you get it, Clementine? Do you really think it’s any safer out there than in here? Anyone else would have aimed higher,” she presses down harder and Clem has to repress a yelp. “You want your little boyfriend back, then fine. You can keep him, but remember who has the power to keep the both of you safe out there. Now... behave and we can get the both of you treated right.”

 _Stop talking_ , Clem wants nothing more than to scream at the woman to stop spewing out her own special brand of bullshit. There are too many lies and false promises, and none of it matters anymore. It would take far more than words to convince her to leave AJ, to abandon the school, to look Louis in the eye and say she chose playing Lilly’s version of _house_ over everything they’ve been fighting against.

Bullshit, every word of it.

“Get off of her!” Louis tries to be intimidating, but he’s borderline breaking as is. There’s a bubbling to his voice that is awful to hear.

Lilly’s attention drifts over to him and the pressure against Clem’s shoulder lets up by a margin. “I think I’ve made my terms pretty clear.” Her voice is annoyingly calm.

Clementine knows the terms, but she sure as hell isn’t about to take them. In one quick motion she draws the wire cutters from her hip and plunges the blade points into the side of Lilly’s shin.

Lilly lets out a startled grunt. It’s a superficial wound but the surprise is enough for Clem to buck the woman’s foot off of her. She madly scrambles for her weapon, impatient fingers grabbing for the hammer and swinging the tool in a blind fury.

Everything starts to move in a blur – she’s vaguely aware that Lilly is yelling, but she has given up listening. The gun fires again, and the jolt to her right shoulder and the growing dampness on her skin tells her that she has probably been hit. But the pain isn’t there. With one quick swing, Clementine swipes for the woman and manages a glancing blow to her skull. Still she persists, taking another swing for Lilly’s wrist and sending the pistol flying out of her fingers with a sickening crack.

In the brief moment that Lilly stops to register what has happened, Clem rushes over to Louis. She clips the ties holding his wrists together. A hiss of pain follows as his broken arm suddenly loses its support.

They don’t have time to fix that problem, Lilly’s arm quickly snaking around Clementine’s neck to pull her back into the fight. Her feet lift off the ground and her throat squeezes closed under the pressure. Kicking and clawing doesn’t loosen the hold on her. Nails scrape against Lilly’s sleeves, catching on the fabric but failing to achieve much else. Grey and black starts to creep into the corners of her vision.

In the next moment she feels Lilly pull back abruptly and Clem’s knees and hands hit the metal floor, air flooding her lungs in giant gulps. A cough wracks through her and tears threaten her eyes as she struggles to catch her breath. Beside her she can hear the struggling between Louis and Lilly.

It takes all of Clem’s energy to stand. She can’t let Lilly win this fight – even in her bleeding and light-headed state, she’ll fight tooth and nail until this stops. She turns to see Louis doing his best to fend off Lilly using only his left arm. There’s a crimson streak smudging both the lower portion of Lilly’s face and Louis’ elbow.

Clem scans the environment, hoping to spot the dropped pistol, but it must have settled somewhere amongst the rest of the junk in the room. What she does notice is the irregularly stacked crate pile behind the squabbling pair.

Clementine charges towards them, barging her shoulder squarely into Lilly’s ribs before backpedalling as fast as she can, swinging her arm out to push Louis back with her. The woman stumbles into the stack and an avalanche of wood, metal, and cloth cascades over her. Some of the crates splinter, turning the pile into a spiky mess of heavy angles. Maybe she screams, or perhaps it’s an illusion made by the deafening rumbles echoing through the room. Part of her hopes it isn’t a scream – because if it is, that noise is going to haunt her.

Even after it all goes quiet and still Clem feels like everything is shaking. It takes her a moment to realise that it’s her own body shivering.

 Beneath the pile of rubble is Lilly, possibly alive but lying still enough for her to believe she’s at least knocked out. Probably bleeding or concussed in a way that needs medical attention to pull through. She’s not sure whether it’s a kindness or a punishment to leave her that way. Given the circumstances she doesn’t want to dig her out to finish her off, she just wants to leave. To let her live or die under her own ill-gotten possessions. A victim of her own stupid game that she tried to drag Clem and her friends into.

 _Maybe Lilly was right the first time, I am just like Lee_.

In any other circumstance she might actually be proud of that... not today though. No, today she just feels sick. It’s not the same as a walker, and it definitely isn’t the same without a gun. She can still feel the rattling in her knuckles from where the hammer’s impact rebounded back into her. Her own blood stains her skin, but she can’t help feeling like it belongs to Lilly as well.

 “C-Clementine,” Louis stutters out breathlessly. Her eyes lock onto him. The poor boy is visibly pale, huffing and sweating profusely. He’s shaking too, cradling his right arm against his chest. “You’re bleeding,” his eyes scan over her, lingering on her left calf and her right shoulder. Thankfully, the pistol has caused less damage than the rifle that hit Omar.

“And you’re broken,” she adds sorely while gesturing to his arm. She’s sure that once the adrenaline wears off that they’ll both drop like a sack of bricks. And potentially vomit. But there’s no time for that now. They need to patch up and move.


End file.
